love-making

Every Nicholas Sparks
Novel has a twist to the plot.
And there’s nothing more heartbreaking
Than the loss of a larger-than-life character.

And I, two years into my marriage
Is hopelessly scared that I might not be worthy
Of a woman, who looks through a kaleidoscope
And is married to a man who looks
Through the porthole of a leaking trawler.

And glee and gloom they do mix very well though
On an abstract painting that slips
Unnoticed to the future, taking us along.
The vanilla skies beautifully afloat
Until the gale blows

And we jaywalk like the monsoons
Until we crash into each other
When accidents leave behind casualties
Of our own securities, that prolong the beauty
Of moan-powered engines
Of those mounds of flesh on a marriage bed

By itself, a bedrock.

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