the battered cottage

with its mismatched shutters and

patchwork roof yearns for?

a love like ivy:

a natural love that grows

on you until its

existence seems as

obvious as butter spread
on pumpernickel

bread; a gentle love

that abstains from dismantling
your structure unlike

the amorous storms

which came before it;
a healthy love that

requires tending, not

coaxing – whose affectionate
vines gravitate to

you instinctively

(you mustn’t persuade them to
come or to stay). such

is the love that you,

my resilient cottage, deserve.
spurn anything less.