finding love

they wont find love in ballrooms
under chandeliers dancing till dawn
they wont find love in yesterdays stories
of the time when their love was born
they wont find it in candlelight dinners
with violin playing and champagne pouring
they wont find it in boat rides or cruises
in the waters under the bridges as the boatman's rowing

they will find it in the bitter cold of the winter
biting, cutting and numbing their skin
huddling with each other for warmth
and the worlds lost in a spin

they will find it in the quiet of the night
when they can hear nothing but each others voice
in late mornings and breakfast in bed
in unmade sheets and shameless laughter, not poise
in long walks, in reading books on park benches
in pathetic tuneless karoke singing
sitting in adjacent rooms
and pinging
in cooking together and making faces over dinner
about the food made
and waking around midnight
for a refrigerator raid

they will find love
in weaving small dreams of their own
and in each others company
growing old
fighting over dentchers
and falling asleep in each others arms.