Travelling monkeys and circus shows.
They have nothing on the spectacle
where our love grows
with spine-tingling hope.
we wait for the façade to fade
to a duller, less faceted
version of the truth, where love is
expressed in the mundane.
To days of urbanities and chores,
the trudging steps of the everyday
to which the brave succumb.
Sentiment filed away
for special occasions
and passion a lukewarm memory.
That is not us, in this tangle
of sweat and earthiness, grounded
and in flight, simultaneously,
an intricate performance too real,
desperately clinging,
whilst inwardly fleeing
to the safety of the mundane.
