Poles Apart

I dream of comfort with you.
In a world of unease
and undercurrents of pain,
you are a relief.

The zing and fizz of a passionate
affair are not for you, I know, and am glad.
Invariably passion dies away,
leaving merely a crater of yet more pain.

So simplicity is longed for,
a blend of comfort and consideration;
the touch of two souls.
We complement one another.

Yet how do I attribute to you
the simplicity in which you do not believe? It is
a projection of my imagination; you are
too scared to allow things to change.

The stars have written that it be so,
although I do not altogether trust the stars.
What do they, of a far-distant past, know of
the need for security?