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.