love is inevitable

like the next line of this poem,

and the thoughts you leave with,

like their birthday party’s return gift,

like every waiter looking to pass the time,

like the weight of the clouds,

the lasso of the moon,

and a heaving ocean-

the cruel fish eating the innocent fish,

the mean fish scolding the meaningless fish,

the tired fish screaming,

a huge net crashing in, thrashing,

the rainbow of an oil spill, trashing-

we're fish in an oil spill,

and the rain bows where the blue was,

a tricolour where the hue was,

and an endlessness in between,

because if love wasn't inevitable,

this poem would end.