Portable Life, Portable Love

It's all about your love life, but what does that mean?

Take it, break it, rip it apart.
From the two pieces we can start to chart.
A flick of the wrist, a turn of grace,
And I look upon the world with a different face.

The Rubik's cube of life.

Work life,
Home life,
Wife life,
Trouble and strife.

All my life...

They are all born from my portable life,
Each an individual, distinctly different.
As another steps in one fades away,
For there is only so much space in one day.
It's a natural case of displacement.

Football life,
Drinking life,
Sad life,
Happy life.

Love Life?

One has so many loves, to numerous to tell,
The source of that love all drawn from one well.
A brandy, a cigar or a vintage red wine,
The restaurant in the country where I like to dine.

Love for friends, for family, for you,
Carried from the source, drawn from deep.
Bubbling over when I sleep,
A single love I cannot give or keep.
The best I can offer is a place,
That is the number one space,
Closest to the well.

So when you come to take your fill,
My portable love you do not spill.

© Copyright ThePoet.co.uk 2004