Still.

STILL Love Of any kind Is still love. Who are we? To judge Its sanctity. Legality. Beauty. Pulsations. Pure sensations. Of blood That rushes through My veins. Is it not the same? As the warmth that courses yours? What Is yours pure? Righteous? Superior? So that it may deem mine Vulgar? Contempt? A diamond Many faceted. Is precious From any side. Love Of any kind Is still love.   -- Vincent Immanuel Pang