The Wondrous Void

Love is that tree which doesn't exist anywhere, yet in its shade I go on living.
Love is those unseen soft lips of mine, whose kiss-mark I still carry as a wound.
Love is the familiar spell of those two eyes, whose shadow I have never beheld with these eyes of mine.
Love is those two hands that hold my hands fast... those two arms where, if I return, it feels like home.
Love is that strange emptiness of mine, born from my own making, though I know nothing of its beginning or end.