ficus benjamina.

You planted weeping fig,

I made some quip about the weather,

And I trawled my playlist for something soft,

Soft rock, or maybe easy listening

You didn’t seem to care

Not your style of music

But you didn’t need to tell me that

Because love is understanding

Love is the gap between

As it always has been

A bond that doesn’t cease,

And yet we forge our spaces

Our lines in the sand

Lines that may be washed away a thousand times,

But ones that we can perfectly re-draw

Until the suns go cold,

Even when the tide races in,

Trying to pull us under

To fill our lungs and steal us in the night,

We move every grain as if before

And firmly grip the other’s hand,

Since opposite poles must always attract,

Even when the lines are drawn

They’re the same lines

The same walls

But they’re our walls,

And we always find the door.