Slopes

The slow curve,
Rises and falls,
Slows and bends,
Like the lightest trace of pencil,
On new sketchpad,
From faint to dark,
The feeling rises as the sentiment solidifies,
And the harmony,
Nothing broken,
Nothing left behind,
It's the love of two,
That draws and shapes,
Flaws and breaks,
Fade away in the bow and embrace,
Of us two.