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.