for centuries, poets and music makers

have sought the definition of love,

females of all ages, with list of deal breakers,

try to do anything that might give it a shove.

but they are looking in the wrong places,

expecting it to come with flowers and prose,

demanding it be attached to handsome faces,

or at least someone that compares them to a rose,

if they were to stop chasing fantasy and folly,

they would find it’s been all around them the whole time,

in the dirty fist offering a taste of a lolly,

in the sweet kisses from faces covered in grime,

in tickle soft touches from furry noses,

and butterfly wisps of whiskers.

love is not something you have to suppose

from grown up double speak and whispers,

it flies on the breezes with unexpected sneezes

and chubby armed hugs accompanied by “UP’s”

Love is not something you have to seek,

it is given, unasked, everyday of the week.