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Love is not.
Love is not the first sight.
It is not the first “Hello.”
It is not the butterflies in your gut
or the fluttering feeling in your heart.
Love is not first kisses
or romantic nights
spent under the moon
swooned by voices
of newborn conversations.
It is not the first “Hello.”
It is not the butterflies in your gut
or the fluttering feeling in your heart.
Love is not first kisses
or romantic nights
spent under the moon
swooned by voices
of newborn conversations.
Love is not the first touch,
the graze against your arm
sending chills down your spine.
It is not the new lyrics
that pour from the speaker box.
It is not the first morning after,
the tangled sheets or
breakfast in bed.
Nor the lingering scent of new cologne.
the graze against your arm
sending chills down your spine.
It is not the new lyrics
that pour from the speaker box.
It is not the first morning after,
the tangled sheets or
breakfast in bed.
Nor the lingering scent of new cologne.
Love is the finger that traces your laugh lines.
It is the half pot
of coffee left on the warmer.
The shared wine while the child sleeps.
The morning drive holding hands to the market.
It is sweatpants and takeout on a lazy night.
Love is the challenge of broken spirits
and dirty dishes.
Love is the last saved bite.
It is the half pot
of coffee left on the warmer.
The shared wine while the child sleeps.
The morning drive holding hands to the market.
It is sweatpants and takeout on a lazy night.
Love is the challenge of broken spirits
and dirty dishes.
Love is the last saved bite.
~
AUTHOR: AMANDA ROWE
IMAGE: LUNABLUEROSE1617/DEVIANTART
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