Love is strange,
How it creeps in, unexpected
Drops into the open armchair of your heart
Like an old friend
How you hardly notice
Until you’re deep into the cookie jar
And have drained the coffee pot,
Talking into the wee hours of the morn.
By then, it’s too late to bid Love farewell
So you invite him to use your guest room
For as long as he likes
You get almost used to seeing him at breakfast
Both in your jammies,
Slippers on your feet.
Occasionally, you realize the situation
And marvel at the chain of events
That brought Love here.
But most days, it seems normal:
Having Love walk the corridors,Baking bread, making soup.