Everything
Is made up to be deep and difficult:

Like the aura of a lost lover
        In your basin of memories,
Like the lips of a man
        You'd kiss from your tiptoes,
And the love you gave out
        But now have misplaced in the dark.

But our simplicity is
Forgotten:

Like the soft cherry blossom
        From a tree convinced it's spring,
Like the vivacious roasts of coffee beans
        Stirred soft by cream and sugar,
And the instinctive embrace of a friend
        Not caring if you want it.

Why then, can't love be made simple?

I may speak another language
But I still know what you're saying
The words reverberate across your mouth
And play upon your tongue
You may read trite books with drawn out words
But I read raw emotions
As they swell over your body
I see the way you snarl
When you let out a torrent of torment
And cruel words meant for humor
I can tell you it isn't a pretty face
But in actual fact I can't tell you
Because I don't speak your messed up language