Isn’t love supposed to blossom

Like a dainty flower

Proportionate to the awakening of spring?

Why did mine plummet out of me

Like tons of water falling

Knocking trees over and chipping at stone?

Isn’t love supposed to creep

Like the sun through the blinds

Slowly but surely and gently and barely there?

Why did mine charge

Like an antsy steed at the starting line

Yearning for the thrill of the race?

Isn’t love supposed to be subtle

Like the caress of a feather

Sending waves of tingles down your spine?

Why did mine crash like

A ship against cliffs in a storm, sending debris flying

As if a paragon of passion and destruction?