Poetry: Love, Cliché

Intricacies of love so daunting, 
A power to be reckoned with.

Call it fate, dancing on chance,
A colorful word in bleak reality.
It could have been, should have been,
Another day, in another trance,
I’d like to have this dance.

Connections that run deep,
Falling over my head,
The world so tangled in you,
Possibilities immeasurable.

I had taken the dare,
My mind wandered through the night,
“There are only possibilities,”
The voice resounded in my skull.

So I took those steps,
And let go, breathing heavily,
In hopes that we may be,
Is this feeling a vice?

It ties me in the moment,
And pulls in every direction,
Presenting the many paths,
Leading to your affection.

These intricacies stab at my thoughts,
Brewing subconsciously, flowing freely,
Straining my very soul, bent out of shape,
Almost threatening change.

Do pieces have to fit?
Conforming to uniformity;
The idea’s all too ordinary.

I believe in the challenge.

Let’s get bent out shape,
You and I,
Let’s fall out of this cliché.