Good poets like precision, real art is
an economy of words that define.
That is why the subject of love will mess
up even the wisest of poets that line
up to talk much of unrequited love,
that sounds more like lust most of the time.
True love may not be eternal or above
ordinary humans but found to be divine
nevertheless because it endures in the coffee
made each morning, resides in the same bed
every night, lasts through mistakes and daffy
misunderstandings, diapers, children fed,
sickness, health and death, life's distracting lures.
When loved ones work at it, love endures.