I have at length pondered what is love? The temperate timbre of a woman’s voice? The readiness of understanding? Sympathetic responses, laughter, relaxed posture, the lustre of yielding eyes, the dilation of their pupils, the anticipation of organic indulgences? Love is not bound by rules or regulations, statistics, laws of tolerance, physics or attenuated mathematical equations. There is no formula for such a combustible yet propitious chemical reaction. Love is a relentless compound that purges ones consciousness. Often in the dead of night I beseech the heavens for clarity, insight and solace. The pathos of anguish crawling over me like a million homunculus insects. My feelings governed by my blistered soul, the basilica of which conspired only to riddle my sanity with anxiety its cortex a sponge for wretchedness. I am looking for a sincere loving woman who can challenge me mentally. Who can tolerate tempt and tantalise me with her charms and good intentions.