Shapes

The shape and size of love is hard to tell.
His was an arrow
Moving straight ahead.
Hers were polka dots
Sprinkled all over.
His were a series of squares
A bit too sharp around the edges
One leading to another
A flowchart
Keen to reach a conclusion.
Hers were swirls and whorls
Dancing around the page
Crowding at the edges
And margins and random places
Happy to be wherever.

Her spiraling affection
Stood quietly outside
His tightly shut box.
If only it opened slightly
She could spill inside
And fill up the dark corners
And vacant edges
Tucked safely inside.

She waited and he asked
For more shapes
The sun, moon, star signs
Her birth chart
And she wondered about
The particular shape
His hair would take
On early winter mornings.

Paula-Breaux-EMINGLE

 

His square and her spiral
Tried to fit into each other
And in the dark of the night
And the high of the alcohol
Running in wayward lines
Through their blood
For sometime, they fit
For sometime,
A new shape emerged
A beautiful amalgamation
Of scars and pains
Of words and kisses
Of love, almost.

When the morning came
The sunlight drew its own shapes
On the floor where
Their clothes lay intertwined
He asked again
For her stars
She offered whatever was left
Of them
Smiling that from squares to spirals
It had come down to stars.

And that’s how one more was added
To the many hearts that broke
And the fault
Is all in our stars.

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