Love luxuriates in patience
not slumped in a boudoir chair
asking, Is that what you’re going to wear?
Love clothes itself in kindness
forswearing all but the mildest grumble
quelling every hint of rancor
ignoring even the most annoying habit.
Love exudes humility
never slamming the phone
let alone banging a fist
(love never thrusts a red-faced rant
through a window nor does love
twist words, or scour paragraphs
for a shy hint of weakness).
Love admits error; love does not
insist that the mistaken strategy
should have been the course of action
all along. Love seeks not hesitation
or failure, or fault, or chaos; but
when the beloved takes to the highwire
love falls asleep with the phone clutched
against its chest, so as to hear the text
with news of the beloved’s success
or a desperate cry for help in the night.
© M. Corinne Corley, 2024