Love blossoms, blooms like the buds on the branches across the botanical garden.
In may,  in new York,  it's sweating,  glowing and knows where you've been.
Love has no clear definition,  comfort,  needs,  wants. ..tears fall from love and love can make you sweat.  
Love fades like the colors on the leaves,  petals on the roses sun light to the evening.
Love returns like the leaves on the barren branches and the darkness of the night lit up by the rising sun.