Not the Sharpest Tool in the Shed

I thought I needed a sharp love, 

the kind that hurts when it is good 

and burns those that dare 

to stand too close. 

But you always knew, 

the best kind of love is gentle. 

It stretches easily from two to three, 

and never wavers during the years 

that threaten to dim the light of passion. 

The best kind of love is a gentle love, 

a whisper on the stage 

where once you screamed;

a glance across an empty room, 

now filled.