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Love comes when least expected and love comes
like the rain blowing naked over us
making us all wet. Love never makes a fuss.
As I grow old, love stays forever young
returning like the sun or moon, the truth
that I’ve looked for that’s knocking at the door
I open and stand there soaked by the storm
thunder thundering, lightning lighting you.
Love like the cornice high above remains
and keeps the worst off, letting just enough
pour down and glisten on the stones and us.
And when our lips kissed in the rain again
how did I know that this was really love?
Love comes and comes. Lust is but once and done.


  1. Lucy Wilson
    Posted 22 Jan ’16 at 9:34 pm | Permalink

    That’s a sonnet alright–Shakespearean? Partial rhyme and liberties with iambic pentameter prevent it from sounding sing-songy.

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