Meaninglessly meandering about This ocean of unforgiving uncertainty; Love-- I often wonder about, The significance of swimming When drowning is so easy I wonder,  How splashing and struggling Leaves one perplexed Of its surroundings. Turns out, if being in love Is being wet In all the nuances of the ocean, No one can ever be wetter  Than they already are. Be it a bucket  Than being at the bottom of  Pacific. With a body still, But no soul, no love. And then there's fire. Is love fire, then? Which burns,  Hair and skin Bones and flesh. Alike, as if paper Not desire, nor lust Pure affection Devoid of unbecoming sensations That lasts until  The fire does Without any remainder And when the flame ends So does the body.