Throwing Stones

It’s a skimming really
The way these stones skip
Cresting the waves
Before sinking deep
Into cool, clear water
Never to be seen again
Leaving ripples behind
Like caressing silk
And watching it settle
Seamless in its beauty
Reckless in its joy
Then I forget about it
The heft of each stone
As I weighed it even
The consequence of air
And complicated trajectory
All gone like the rain
In the middle of a dry spell
Like she was in time
After the death of love
A skimming on the surface
Subtle and infantile
She thought she could fly
But life is not that simple
Not like throwing stones
Before they disappear.

First Comes Love

First comes love
That wily advance
Entrancing in parts
A flaunting glance
Flagrantly even
Expansive at best
Before overflowing
Into a radiant sea
Of infatuation
Or perhaps intrigue
A suitable substitute
For forced affection
A semblance of a kiss
Given at midnight
Before the curtain call
The encore too dim
Too pedestrian
For all this pomp
That attends fervor
That shakes the ground
Whenever you pass by

But if love is first
What comes after?