I Love by Alp Mortal

I love as a rich man; charging interest on the debt, demanding it repaid on the quarter day; the more I have, the more I want; and where love is in short supply, I will take vanity and conceit and write off the losses on the exchange as a trifling expense.

I love as a poor man; the less I have, the more jealously I guard it and eek it out, daring not to squander it or risk it; bringing it forth only on special days to polish and briefly gaze upon, allowing no-one to touch it should the precious thing be broke; but slowly I starve.

I love as a beggar; ‘t’was easily squandered in ripe youth ‘til the cup was empty and my wailing into the dry well, echoed and burst my drums. I love as a beggar; pleading for my daily alms, scratching with torn nails at the scraps left in my bowl.

I love as a thief, stealing the coin from my heart and yours, repaying in vanity and iridescent words which ape the pearls of wisdom; only they are not pearls but the grit which gives birth to the pearl; a thinly cloaked grain of sand but stillborn.
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 “I love like a blind man; groping in the dark, testing the way ahead, timidly taking my steps one by one; ever mindful of the hooves of the stallion which threaten to crush my skull if I chose the wrong path.”