Lava Lamp

The lava blobs have no fixed form, 
Each rising, glowing in a surging storm. 
They gather, swell, then they drift apart,
Ascending from a soft, warm, molten heart. 

Each shining bloom appears by chance, 
Like new romance in a fleeting dance.
No shape is promised, none can stay! 
Yet every bloom brightens someone's day! 

Lava lingers, oozes, slow and wise, 
It never asks, nor wonders, reasons why. 
It climbs with hope, then sinks with disgrace,
Leaving warmth well behind without a trace.

Its flow is mesmerizing to see, 
Each pulse returns, yet differently. 
Like waves that break upon a shore, 
Or clouds that churn, billow, and soar. 

Love, too, will swell, gently yield, 
Reshaping all that lies below concealed.
It folds and melds, to find more space, 
Surging in moments of brief borrowed grace. 

No form can hold what hearts pursue, 
Yet every change reveals something new. 
Billowing, beyond what hands have caught, 
Until the longing, finds the shape it sought.