I understand not the ideals of love,
but I know it is a book without words.
Maybe there are no carnations and doves,
and no romantic poems filled with white birds.
Instead, love is the ultimate friendship,
where your kindness knows no iron constraints,
and the heart is fearless to fall and trip,
where none are expected to be a saint.
Love is the morning espresso, bitter
at first taste, but what gets me through the day,
causing my stomach to flop and jitter,
keeping my melancholy thoughts at bay.
Much like life, love has many ups and downs;
Love is a fleeting passion, my mind’s lown.