Love is a picture.
It needs to be framed
Before it is hung
Behind the sofa, or

Put on the mantelpiece
With the Eiffel Tower
In the backdrop, or the Taj
Mahal, or flowers

Filling a far garden.
Sometimes the frame’s wrong
Sometimes it’s the wrong wall,
Sometimes it has to be wrung

Free from frame and set
Like a looted diamond
Elsewhere. There are always
Good reasons, sound

Ones, to break, smash, lop,
Or send it back to shop.

the small bits of brick & plaster laughing in the room / above / us / become a dance in deep cold / & the gaps in our play as evening falls into darkness / deep with black