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Ours is a complicated kind of love
Sweet like the honey off the cob
But in seconds could switch and attack like a swarm of bees protecting their hive
It stings

Ours is a complex kind of love.
Simple to the layman
But like the brain
We don’t know enough to make a good call.
Ours is a random kind of love.
A lion and a panther
Peanut butter and banana sandwich
An unlikely pairing, that hypothetical speaking could work.
Ours is a delicate kind of love.
Like an egg, hard on the visible exterior
With a thin layer of flesh
But would break at the slightest drop.
Ours is a painful kind of love.
A love that makes you stay up thinking about the other at night
Worrying about them more than yourself
And Hating them for trying to stay.
Ours is an addictive kind of love.
A sense of false satisfaction
Like being on a drug and knowing it’s bad for you
But wanting more because it feels so good.
Ours is a silent kind of love.
Lost in translation
We speak, but we don’t listen.
Silenced by fear

Ours is a toxic kind of love.
A nuclear bomb of suppressed feelings
A flood of new things
Clothed by an overwhelming need to flee, flee to a distant land and never return
Ours is a twisted kind of love.
Where you feel you are in love with your best friend
Yet feel you are looking at a total stranger sometimes.
Like the roots of baobab plantation
Twisted and deep
Ours is a passionate kind of love.
A passion that blazes through the veins
And oozes from the ventricular valves.
Love that is necessary for survival
Ours is a special kind of love.
The one you read about in books and watch in movies
Love that makes no sense
But it’s love that still works.
