'Don’t be cynical when it comes to love
For when faced with all of aridity and disenchantment,
It remains as perennial as is the grass.
You are a child in and of the universe no less
than the oak trees and brilliant stars;
You have every right to be here.'

It's like sitting in a warm car after it's been
basking in the heat--
For although our instinct is to blast the air
We often hesitate to cool the hot leather
What we have predisposed ourselves not to like
Is often what comforts us the most
I'll sit in the car, hood radiating waves
like an endless desert road
As long as the grass is growing perennially.
And I'll know I'm rightfully here,
sans a breeze, or an immediately
                                  endearing gaze.
Love, like the cool air blowing from the vents
                                                           ­                      will return.