Maybe loves not so cut and dry as you think,
doesn’t care about your airs and determinations of where your hearts relations would patter
Pitiful errs scattering ideals to the wind like gems, missing fortune, complaining.
Straining sight holes molded in one direction, perfection.
Neglecting life for the dream of transcending, yet on the brink…
Maybe love’s in your back pocket, patiently waiting for you to look around, feel something missing , (hoping you don’t sit down)
Suddenly profound you’re taken over by the notion that somethings nearby,
an inkling of feeling grows into a giant who knows your every movement and melts your every step
Your jest becomes behest as your heart hits the ground
And you’re found..