I would love to hear from you: markklosswriter@outlook.com
The Hot Breath Of Life Itself

Love can be soft as a baby’s kiss,

Yet stir emotions of the dead:

It coos the birds and makes snakes hiss,

Be it for real or in someone’s head.


Cooling the hot breath of life itself,

Or warming the sun’s blazing eye:

More sought after than a banker’s wealth,

There’s nothing quite like a lover’s sigh.


Love gives hope of better days born,

Speeding breath and quickening heart:

Holding back sleep till the dust of dawn

Consuming thoughts from the very start.


Through man’s mightiest book, film and song,

Stories of what might be or have been:

Tied with ribbons of right and wrong,

Spiced with the deepest lover’s sin.


Love colours the imagination,

Of most every living soul:

Laying bare to manipulation,

For many who dare drink from its bowl.


Forced down to hell’s burning land,

Then lifted up to heaven’s gate:

Drowning in deadliest quicksand,

Or feeling light with your first date.


Love sucks the juices from God knows where

Damning logic of rational mind

Bringing crazy happiness to bare

Leaving quiet loneliness behind


The screaming, shouting, laughing, crying

Those foolish things we do and say

The terrible fear of her lying

Never wanting him to go away


Love turns the timid into a hero,

Or a hero into a fly:

With all importance turned to zero,

The day your partner happens to die.


These feelings expose our soul to life,

Like dropped tears from heaven above:

And whatever this world’s wars and strife,

There is no more dramatic than love.