Little does it matter the reception

Of such an amorous desire.

Only a feeling I suppose,

On a rainy autumn night.

Reminds me of a walk around

The lake with a friend in the rain.

She had a pot of soup 

Awaiting our return.

We removed our outer clothes,

Built a fire,

And enjoyed our soup together.

I suppose that is a love

We wouldn’t imagine for we are

Only lost in a sea of goodness.

And the chicken soup is damn good.