Love is a slow kiss goodnight,
its anticipation.

Love is flirting outrageously
and still remembering that
the person at your side
is not obligated to do anything,
its respect.

Love is an imperfection
in your self not bothering you,
its acceptance.

Love is passing up an opportunity
because the time isn't right yet,
it's patience.

Love is a back massage
that starts above the hairline
and ends around the insoles,
its exploration.

Love doesn't not have to say,
"Let's make love," because
you know what the other person wants,
it understands.

Love is being given an honest chance
to say no when you thought
you were committed,
it's consideration.

Love is both of you
remembering protection,
its responsibility.

Love is saying the perfect phrase
to make a solemn embrace
dissolve into giggles,
its humour.

Love is being told
"stop and I'll kill you."
It's desire.

Love is reviewing the damage
to your living room
and realizing personal effects
are strewn in a clockwise pattern
from the front door the to bedroom,
it's abandonment.

Love is seeing what your love
really looks like for the first time,
its truth.

Love is knowing what
time it is and not caring,
its joy.

Love is the arms around you
tightening their embrace,
its ecstasy.

Love is seeing a new side
of a person you thought you knew,
its renewal.

Love is telling a person
if you have to leave,
you will let them sleep,
and being told they
would rather be woken,
its tenderness.

Love is waking up to find
the subject of the dream
you were having
asleep on your shoulder,
it's where fantasy meets reality.

Love is being there to wake
your lover slowly,
its sensuousness.

Love belatedly knows why
you bothered to buy a
queen-sized bed three years ago,
its practicality.

Love is two people
only taking up a third
of a queen-sized bed,
its closeness.

Love knows you gave
the extra set of keys
to your apartment
to the right person,
its trust.

Love is saying good-bye
and knowing you will be back
by mutual consent,
its faith.

Love is opening your medicine cabinet
finding your tube of toothpaste
turned into a pretzel,
its adaptation.

Love is sitting at the window,
looking out and remembering
who you were with the night before,
its reflection.

Love is hearing the weather forecast
for a winter storm and wishing
you could spend it in bed with your lover,
its loneliness.

Love is stories that will never be told,
it's personal.

What is Love to you?