Our love is not the stuff of legends,
of poisons, of letters written with blood.
ours is the gentle, everyday love.
of fingers run through hair.
of legs thrown upon legs.
of little things.
of wearing each other’s clothes.
of making each other’s meal.
of love, confessed for the thousandth time,
as if it is the first time.
of same stories, told in the same words,
night after night.
of lying in silence, pretending to sleep,
to be in each other’s arms.
of struggling to speak with words.
of learning to speak with eyes, with touch.
of finding numerous reasons to kiss.
of kissing without a reason.
of being naked, of being naked,
counting moles, eating ears,
leaving crumpled bed sheets full of secrets.
oh! let others fight grand battles against the villains of heart.
we have nothing to fear.
we will roam the world as lovers.
we will walk it’s streets with four legs.
we will see it’s wonders with four eyes.
oh! let others tattoo names for the world to see.
we have nothing to prove.
we will roll as puppies.
we will talk gibberish.
we will learn to be children in each other’s arms.
oh! let others hold hands and jump off cliffs.
we have no death.
a thousand years from now,
we will still be alive on the lips of lovers.
This poem is part of the Poetry Book Oblivion