Let me tell you what my love is

My love is paint not yet dry. My love is colouring outside the lines. My love is paintbrush jar juice and 9B pencils. Blackest on black.
My love is 30% extra for the same price. My love is the 9-item checkout line. My love is the cart with the wonky wheel that always picks you.
My love is 500 channels on cable and we still Netflix and chill. My love is a world of words where we’re both used to the silence. At last.
My love is 8000 kilometres long & two continents wide. Twelve digits could take bring us closer instantly. My love is not good with numbers.

My love is the kitchen quietly on fire. My love is an emergency landing. My love needs no rescue. My love puts on her own oxygen mask first.

In the midst of an aria my love is deaf mute. My love has words, but no voice. My love is the quiet of the key unlocking the door at dawn.
My love is guilt climbing into the sheets before morn. My love is the walk of shame down A Milan runway. My love is sorry, not sorry.
My love is the Mohammaden’s wine. My love is avarice in the time of frugality. My love is the rapture.
My love takes me to church.
My love shouts, “Timber”, in a forest where nobody sees a tree fall. My love is love at first sight, then sound.
My love responds to love the way sprinters do to firing pistols. Tell her you’ve fallen for her and she will ask you where it hurts.
My love is a wrenching gut. My love is magnificence paraded as decay. My love is a forgotten city that lives only to keep un-remembering.
My love is in ruins. My love embraces broken things and bandages paper cuts. My love is cracked in all the places that sunlight hungers for.
My love is a music box that creaks Beyonce. My love is a crumpling violet in the shade. My love, she is belladonna. She is perfect thirst.
My love is a Japanese tea ceremony in a town where coffee is a synonym for modern romance. My love is Medea with a happy ending.
My love is kintsugi. Her shattering held in place with gold. My love suffers behind million dollar smiles & lies her own lips disbelieve.
My love is that field of no right-doing or wrong-doing. My love moves through the past with her back to me. My love moves on without moving.
My love leaves, going nowhere. My love walks away but not one step is taken. My love is a goodbye without ever knowing the words.

 

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