Love lives here:

it's dissolved in the pools of rainwater on the asphalt,

it's interwoven in the muzak that drifts off of the car radio,

it's hidden in his drowsy Saturday smile over breakfast,

it's whispered in rose-colored dreams and honeyed nightmares.

Love lives here:

it turned the hearts of reckless heartbreakers into shy lovers,

it shattered the stained-glass window in the back of the cathedral,

it filled the summertime with sycamore trees and plum juice,

it shifted the tides like it shifted the color of the goldenrod leaves in the autumn.

Love lives here:

in the wooden steering wheel that pilots Ahab's ship

and the whalebone fortress at the bottom of the sea;

in both the bloodstained hands of Theseus

and in the canopy of vines entangling Minotaur's skeleton.

Love lives here;

in this universe,

in this solar system,

in the backyard of your childhood home —

Here.