Love is not firecrackers burning your hand
when you trip and fall and knock over the can;
Love is cool rain on sticky hot skin
washing off those foolish transgressions.
Love is not the special rapporteur
to the U.N. Convention on How Stupid You Are;
Love is the unpaid intern working late at night
devoted to helping you fight the good fight.
Love is not dead pine needles that implore
to scrape your bare feet on the forest floor;
Love is strong branches of an old treetop
that help you climb up and stay strong when you drop.
Love is not mud on the bottoms of men’s boots
leaving stains on your carpets like feral old brutes;
Love is windshield wipers that crescendo
cleaning dead insects off each of your windows.
Love is not a building that collapses from its own weight
when pressure is applied and the load is too great;
Love is a cantilever bridge that never falters
as it keeps us above our ever-troubled waters.