In response to Nate’s critique of his own imagery in Break Up
Who says a heart must be rent
At an emotional whirlwind’s whim?
Why do sun and moon and stars
Need to pale against your light?
Why can’t love be the string of cheese
That yawns from pizza slice to pan?
Love is the laundry done, folded clothes
Stacked neatly at the foot of your bed.
Love is the dishwasher emptied,
An espresso on the nightstand when you wake.
Love is flicking through emails on a phone
While I ‘just quickly pop into the loo’.
Love is the look of dejection when I say,
‘I’m going to Singapore. No,
On my own. Like I went to Penang’.
Love is getting to the airport early
Because ‘you know how I am when I fly’.
Love is ‘do you want to get some lunch?
I’m done with work for today’.
Love is rubbing swollen ankles,
Swollen sinuses, other swellings too.
Love is the fingers exploring
The gully between hip and breast.
Love is hot and steamy hotel sex,
At one a.m. with the curtains open,
On a work trip to Sydney.
Fucking like no-one else exists,
Like we used to in our twenties.
Love is allowing freedom and flight,
And growth beyond the confines
Of society, of tradition, of our own tiny minds.
Love is in the banal and mundane,
And in a thousand tiny considerations.
Love encompasses galaxies,
And is written on a grain of sand.
So why can’t love be the string of cheese,
That stretches from pizza slice to pan?
Image credit: Pixabay/micaelabustamantefgm
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