What Is It That Makes Us Stop To Love?

is it too much familiarity that the other
sounds like a blabber
and looks like a blubber
and smells like a tuber?

is it the hustle and bustle of the daily worries
that takes her away from a mystery
and you have nothing mystical
to maintain that fantasy?

so much reality
this everydayness that shuts you out
from the interest of life

it must be the desire turned off
the will surrendering
the heart dying because there is no more blood
rushing because the ecstasy had long left both of you

staring at the ceiling
and waking up as though there is nobody sleeping on your side
and closing windows and opening doors
stepping out
finding the air of freedom and smelling its new scent
feeling the wind
and wanting to play even if it is dark and cold and damp
on a moonless night
on the soft grass under the lushing trees
waiting for your dream
to come
where someone will be there

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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