My Lover

My lover is very mysterious.

His moods change like the wind.

He is calm, collected, and tranquil one minute,

And furious, stormy, and vicious the next.

But I love him anyways.

He leaves me gifts,

Pearly, beautiful gifts.

At least,

Some of them are..

Most of them are incomplete,

Having been scraped up from the bottom.

These I pay no mind to.

Others I inspect,

Searching for flaws.

And if I find some,

I throw them back in his face,

For I am choosy.

But every once in a while,

He gives a perfect present,

One that I snatch up greedily

And clean and polish

To perfection.

And I keep it for many years to come.

But if I am not careful with these rare gems,

My lover has no qualms against snatching them away,

Never to be seen again.

But I love him anyways.

My lover is very affectionate.

He showers me with kisses.

Many are soft and caressing,

But others are violent,

Passionate,

Longing for something more.

But I am as persistent as he,

And I do not yield.

He is left in wanting,

As he always shall be.

As I always shall be.

For no one can ever truly be one

With the ocean.

Comments

egsprunger

When I first wrote this poem, I posted it on quotev.com. If you check for plagerism, you will find it posted there, almost word for word.

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741