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.