Of love and lovers

 My mother's ears have known more love stories than I have had, not because I haven't had an array of lovers to play the scenes, but because she saw love in every one who gave me more than a passing glance.

My father's gate has seen more lovers than my heart has received. Lovers who gave heaven and earth to get there, but never crossed the foyer, not for lack of invitation, but because they were more interested in being there than taking it further.

My daydreams have had more love than my heart has known, not because I haven't known love but because the idea of love is more enthralling than love itself.

My sheets have entertained far less lovers than my lips. Lovers who were at one time the only people who mattered in the world, not because they were extraordinary but because I loved them wholeheartedly.

My friends know of less lovers than I've had, not because I lied to them but because for some they wouldn't approve. Lovers who lie, cheat and manipulate, yet lovers I've had all the same.

My love has been given to a few good lovers, yet it has had to be retrieved from them too, not because they weren't good enough, but because lovers come and go and love in itself is rarely enough.