The Shape of Love

A heart 

that shape 

on a card 

in it’s

Two hills

And deep valley

Isn’t enough to say

I love you

Isn’t enough to

Fill a space with

The strangeness

Of our mistakes

And victories

Isn’t so symmetrical

On every day

Of who gives more

And who less

And roundabout

Goes the swapsies.

The shape of love

Is a bit topsey turvey -

Few dents here and there

Covered in odd patches  

Can be as huge as a million stars

Or tiny as a grateful tear

Cant put a price tag on it

Even if you try

Might be invisible

And gentle

And swaying

To the clocks pendulum

Or loud and pointy.

Can be pulsing with ache or losing

In an abstract mess

Of pain

Or swelling like pride in a daze.

Pass me a balbis or squircle

Heptagram or triquetra

Skate to the Ilemniscate

or a vesical piscis

Stadium.

There’s no mold

Like a box of chocolates

That would fit in

Picassos dreaming

There’s no slightly

Dead bunch of blooms

In Aldi to capture

The roots of love

That take hold

In a tangled fury

Of loyalty

And never giving up.

It’s won’t fit in a handbag

Or an advertisement

For Cinderella at the ball

It’s always changing

Like clay or the day or

The hope of tomorrow

It’s not too fat or too skinny

Or any such comparison

And it could never fit the

pages of tabloid

brain junk where shapes

are pasted flat like

discarded mind food.

It’s freeform

It’s joy

It’s made of

Human beings

It’s brave.

It’s real.