Love

It doesn't dissolve like salt
or melt like hand-held chocolate,

It doesn't drown when smothered; it
doesn't vanish like the rabbit in the hat.

It doesn't melt in the rain,
like the wicked witch of the west,

It doesn't wash down the sink,
it can't be soaked and scrubbed clean.

It bleeds.
The deeper it seeps; the darker the pain.

Set.
Permanent.
Scarred.

It's not love if it doesn't
brand your heart.