Sunday, February 14, 2016
this earth-mover, bulldozer of a love,
this axis-shifting love
that won't lie pressed between two sheets of paper
like a tamed wildflower
dry and faded,
a parody of the riot of colour that dotted the hillside.
No this love won't lie still
but runs through dappled meadows on a summer afternoon
ripe for exploring and adventure
This love won't be contained in a helium balloon with a pre-thought sentiment
nor a heart-shaped box
but bursts from the confines like a summer storm
hot and unpredictable
This love is laughter in church and kissing in the bright sun
It is the space between breaths
the shadowed edge of the garden where the forest becomes
where we become and have always been.
Will always be.
This love. This day.