Show me.

It does not help us!
This age long habit of equating Love to sensitive finger tips, the thumping of anxious hearts beating, the throbbing of warm skin.

No,
A road that leaves no trail of blood altars cannot speak of Love. Show me the scars in your palms, the places of sacrifice that got you this glory.

Let me see where you lay down, poured as a drink offering, melted in the furnace, gave up the ghost! Of self for new life to come through.

Show me your tomb stone rolled away, your naked and unashamed, your bless those who curse you, compassion in persecution, embracing all correction, your fourth man reality, you see, cant call yourself family if you don't have a thing for Fire.

Because,
Loves eyes to us have always been daring, hardly every this cotton feeling, never loosing hope, rock bottom and still believing. Lungs crushed, doors shut! Heart failing, "We know you are able and heck though you slay us, you know we're not Leaving!".

LOVE!