It’s in the movies that love is grand,
Scripted and well-planned.
Maybe Landon gave Jamie a star,
But mine filled up the tank when he borrowed my car.
And truthfully, I prefer the latter,
Because what does the former honestly matter?
It’s nice, I suppose, good food and fine wine,
But his arm around me is better, his hand holding mine,
While we lie on the couch, watching DVD’s of Friends,
Our own little ritual of lazy weekends.
It’s the bookcases that separate hotel rooms from homes,
The pictures frames and novels, theology and poems.
He calls it “an inefficient use of space,
But lovely” and slowly, this becomes our place.
It’s a humbling thing, this forming one life,
This chaotic time between diamond ring and wife.
And the flowers may always be far between and few,
But after petals wilt, there will still be us, whispering,
I love you.
I think I prefer poems that don’t rhyme. It’s hard. But there you go.