Love is an old hat
Celebrated like a brilliant yellow sundress
On a retiring spring eve.
She, swathed within the diaphanous cloak
Likewise he who stands regarding her
Contented, sated
Love is a cerulean stone
Calming, tranquilising.
Jagged to the eye
Smooth to the touch
Enduring.
A beauty staunch in the face of time
Love is a deciduous oak
A sunburnt pile of aureate leaf
Gathering hungrily underfoot.
Beautifully barren of foliage
Before oncemore flourishing robustly
Methodically
Love is a driving winter rain
Its bitter, brutal chill unavoidable
Wrathfully lashing all and one.
The agitated darkness eventually remits
Recoils
Giving way to a resplendent rainbow sky
Love is a holey old sock
Of whose pattern you will never tire
Its warmth impervious.
Deeply ingrained yet not unpleasant
Its nonpareil odour
Yielding not to the vigour of a continuous spin cycle
Love is an old hat
Well worn and familiar.
I say
Fetch my old hat
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