I don’t think our love story

Is always going to be a Paris rendezvous

And don’t expect my pants to be dropping

At the mere sight of you.

You won’t be spouting poetry over my beauty

Every single day.

Or promise me the stars and the moon

On a silver tray.


I think it will be more like us, sipping coffee

With our fingers entwined.

Or you sleeping in a few more minutes

And I wouldn’t mind.

It’s your comforting shoulder

When I come home exhausted.

And me, stroking your hair

As we go to bed.


It will be our morning fruit shakes together

As we trade stories of our dreams.

Or you brushing off stray hair from my face

As I fix our office things.

It will be us not leaving the house

Without a goodbye kiss.

It’s these everyday things we share

That fill my life with bliss.