convenience

why love someone out of convenience? why love someone out of ease instead of an all consuming, blood-curdling passion? why love someone only to grapple with fleering looks? why pick a person dressed in piteous chambray over an orrery of dreams and impossible fascinations? why vomit rehearsed conversations of loving pity when you could emanate all anathema indubitably born out of a desperate sense of longing for the other being? not just the physical body you wrangle with your bare hands but that soul, a surreal suspended fermata of everything you ever yearned for and pined after, an overflowing fountain of endless belief and meaning, ever sinuous, ever anfractuous, the monad of, you.