Our Love

Our love?
I am you,
You are me,
We are one,
We are complete

Saint

She loves me,
but maybe not enough,
her love is conditional,
she wants me to be a saint,
while I fucking hate
being a saint

Intelligent Design

We are designed to live together
and not being able to survive without each other
and not being able to agree with each other
and enforced to like each other
in a divine project which is over budget
and the status of work
is still incomplete 

Accomplished Couple

Our love needs now
a king sized bed
to lay down,
to take a break
when the sun is down and the night is out,
to rest its tired limbs
and enjoy the peace
of less passionate days

Years before, when our love was young,
and underdeveloped,
a teenage body, frail, gaining strength by day,
or by night,
all it needed was a dingy sofa
with a broken leg
almost crushing under its own weight
of intense, dense feelings,
supported from underneath
by a badly dented tennis balls can
which had been
the best declaration of love
we had made
to each other

Our mature relation needs comfort now,
to feel good,
to get vigor,
it detests the freezing cold
which steals the heat from our fingers
when we throw snow balls at each other
and we’re not laughing anymore
and we’re not lying in the cold white powder anymore
to leave angels marks
in the angels territory

We are comfortably wrapped
in the deep, and fuzzy, and warm folds
of our poor, irrelevant, meaningless
television impregnated evenings

We are an accomplished couple