Language Of Love

He doesn't know to button up his shirt,

But he is a specialist in buttoning it down in a zig-zag fashion. 

He doesn't know to tie his shoelace in a butterfly bow,

But he could skillfully tie it around his feet.

She doesn't know to braid her hair,

But she could make a curly moustache with her hair.

She doesn't know to pull her sock up her feet,

But she could certainly pull it up on her hands and wonder where her pink fingers disappeared.

She held her hands up under the sun,

And turned her palm inward and outward.

He hopped around under the sun,

Twisting and turning in a cool dance move.

At his last dance move,

He lay underneath the shadow of her socked fingers,

And she lost no time in slipping down next to him-

On the freshly watered lushly grass.

He brushed his fingers over her soft cheeks,

She immediately brought her hand to gift a caress,

But a sock stood as a barrier.

She jolted her hand vigorously,

And off it fell onto the ground.

She then pressed her hand on his cheek,

Smiled contentedly, and lain down on his chest.

They had nothing else of importance,

Other than each other's love and affection and care.

As the sky turned purple,

A twilight breeze blew over them softly,

And pearls of rain drops trickled leisurely.

They clung to each other to keep warm,

But alas! They couldn't stop shivering.

A little yonder was their small hut,

So they both got up holding hands-

When suddenly he fell to the ground,

Pulling her down along with him.

He looked at his feet, then shook his legs vigorously

The lace and the shoe, both loosened their grip,

Then they both got up happily and advanced to their little hut.

As they walked, a frown appeared on her face,

She didn't like having what he didn't have,

So she removed her rugged converse from her right leg,

And slid it underneath his left foot.

As she looked from her left bathroom flips to his right converse,

A smile of satisfaction replaced her frown.

He swung his arms around her shoulders,

And they were both content as they dozed off in each other's arms.

Not a sock, not a frock,

Not a footwear, not a headgear,

Nothing in all the world,

Was ever louder than their language of love.

Special children,

Gifted with innocence and heavenly beauty.

However the world laughed at them,

Mocked their specialties,

Scoffed at their language,

For they thought their language superior.

But pity to you, Oh world!

Living in finely furnished broken homes,

Dressed in fine linens for hearings in courts,

How many more cursed blessings,

Shall thine language of love pronounce?