Our love is like a ripe tide
-a result of two currents
meeting at the surface,
trying to find a balance.
It knows no pretence, hence
In the midst of aversion it
rocks the bottoms of boats
With doubts Unknown.
Our love is not like roses.
It oozes of warm bodies
in rooms with no windows.
Of sweaty palms and
packed theatre halls.
Our love is like an anxious baby
learning to walk.
It is also like an old couple
dancing by the seaside
Struggling to remember
their first dance.
Our love does not escape
in times of misery.
It lurks in the corner of our lips,
Quivering then biting away our fears.
Our love is not candle light dinners
Or two lovers holding hands in the sunset.
It is two children standing in a sandstorm,
With their eyes closed
wrapping themselves into each other.
Our love is like old paintings
Hanged in a hallway no one
dares to walk through.
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