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
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