Love's great measure stretches by what flees us.
Since desire's eyes imply a lack of,
It's only natural that desire must
Grow, as run, what upon we set to love.
But when the want is fed upon the search
Is ever hardly quenched but spun and spun
As on this or that love we lightly perch
And forget all desires can't be won.
To love is then not our desires
For to love transcends the want to possess
And inextinguishable; its fires
Are built upon not self, but the self less.
As for desires then, desire none
For chased love can't be caught nor be outrun
