The Last Fry

You didn’t promise me the stars or the moon, Just a “good morning” text before noon. We fight about dinner for an hour or two, Then laugh at the mess like we always do.

You steal the covers with your freezing feet, But you’re still the one that makes me complete. I don’t need perfect, or posed, or fake, Just the quiet moments that we make.

So keep the roses and the poetry books, I’ll take your annoyed, sarcastic looks. Because love isn’t perfect, or neat, or wise, It’s you letting me have the very last fries.

#LoveStoriesInVerse