Abstracts Simplified

He arouses me so.
Poets would write words of passion
comparing my feelings to fire.
There is no fire.
Only a worn but warm quilt
covering two naked bodies.

He brings me such peace.
Poets would speak of soft, flowing waters,
of meadows on a moonlit night.
There are no meadows.
Only two blue eyes
watching me as I sleep.

He mystifies me.
Poets would have me wringing my hands,
awakening from nightmares in tears.
There are no tears.
Only long days
of silence.