Love that comes out of friendship is the fruit
Of one tree that you won’t find in the wild.
It’s not born from a hot, frantic pursuit;
It warms up imperceptibly, like mild
May mornings simmer into August heat—
Like deep dreams you remember that were lost—
Till suddenly you stop dead in the street
And look back at that line your heart just crossed.
And if she’s stirred to share that glass of wine,
What can the two of you do now but blend?
And if she stays on her side of the line,
She’ll always get what you give as a friend:
Love to the limit of what she’ll allow
Because her soul is worth no less a vow.
Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells