Most People Don't Know Of A Love Like This

Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that makes hair attend to a conversation, in hushed tones and in raging fights.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that brings perspiration to the brow, in matters of intimacy and conflict.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that kidnaps eyes from truth, blinded by love and anger.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that wrinkles noses, in hopes of attracting and retreating.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that demands loyalty from ears, consistent and inconsistent with desired words.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that purses lips, creating a kiss and an unforgivable phrase.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that raises arms, in embrace and rejection.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that tightens hands, held by another and clenched hot.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that rushes blood to the fingers, simply touching and devouring.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that aches the waist, in remembrance of a significant half and labor for love.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that calls strength to the legs, in retaliation and in striving for acceptance.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that paces feet, bringing it together and breaking it apart.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that scrunches toes, in passion and hate.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind that is in no way near perfect, yet so consumed in imperfection that perfection seeks to replicate its flaws.
Most people don't know of a love like this, the kind of love that we have, you and I.