Yes, sometimes, I have to fall out of love,
and this falling is less than thrilling,
more a slow tumble down a steep decline,
as I cry out the words that have meaning
only to two other ears,
hoping he will throw himself down after me.
Then, dizzy, and scraped, and bruised a little,
I brush myself off and grin.
With a smirk and a tell-tale twinkle I say,
“That was fun; let’s go again.”