Made

That we could create love
When love is not what we're given
To work with, not ready to hand
Like lust or fisticuffs, is lovely.

It's the making of the stuff,
The ache from pulling it out
Of thin air, out of its natural
State of nothing, that's amazing.

We only betray the beautiful fiction
When we pretend to nonchalance
At finding it in ourselves, forgetting
It is beautiful because it is made.