I was challenged to write a love poem that (a) tried to avoid cheesiness, as much as a love poem can, (b) was "textural" and evoked nature, and (c) was melancholy. This is my attempt:

Your love is quiet like the rain
that steeps the earthen loam
and pools, beneath my walking,
in lakes and rivers underground. ​

I scorn the churn of ocean waves
which tower with aim to break;
give me your gentle constancy
overflowing and evergreen. ​

But I forget, cavern streams
course past all stony shores
to brining currents, deepest waters,
till their sentries are gulls alone. ​

I, naive, regard the rain
and think each drop modest
when your love coalescing
is the true measure of its might. ​

Cliffside plants never know
their drink at every dawn
springs from the ocean’s breath,
mist beading downy leaves. ​

And if you should cease to be
and sweet rainclouds leave my side
I know what weeping comes:
salted tears that crease dry soil
and never reach the sea. ​

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