This is silly, but he’s home to me.

Everyone makes love sound like

rocks against the window at two in 

the morning, like grand gestures in 

front of the classroom, like public displays

of affection and eighty-two rose bouquets

and maybe that is a part of it but

When real love hits you, he will be

making you hot chocolate, sleep

tangling your fingers in his hair, a slight

whispy smile on his lips like he knows

the world’s greatest secret and even though

you’re both standing in the room’s

bad lighting and you’re both still

recovering from napping and you’re

only in your socks and undies,

it will feel like you’re standing next to a jet plane

during take off, it will just knock you right over

When real love hits you, she will be sitting

in front of a bad action movie, eyes on

the screen and legs tangled between yours,

her body fitting so perfectly against you that you

feel like the two of you are puzzle pieces made for

each other, the warmth of her laughter

like whiskey through your veins

and you will realise you have spent the

last five minutes just looking

at her face and maybe the two of you

illegally downloaded this film and maybe her

fingertips are covered with melted chocolate and

maybe you’ll never be able to form a good enough

way to tell her, but just even seeing her happy makes

your heart explode like a snowball against

a windowpane, you’re just completely wrecked by it

When love hits you, they will be absently licking mashed potato

off the back of their knuckle while they make shepherd’s pie

for your anniversary and their nose will wrinkle

and you will find an inexplicable humor in how

they literally sprint from the room in order to sneeze

without breathing on the food, you will watch the way

they sneak some batter from the bowl with a hooked

finger, how their left cheek has a little smear

of white right across and maybe they are

not the best cook in the world but

even if they burn everything they make you,

you realise you wouldn’t care, you would

honestly eat whatever it was for

rest of your life because it means being

close to them and that idea just cracks

against your ribs like how rain always sings as

it falls, so in love with the ground that it

praises the earth as it hits

and this is what love is:

the moments of looking up and finding

you’re with the world’s most perfect person,

so full of flaws and such a terrible, terrific fit.