Love, in this short poem, is both destined and damaged. The speaker describes a partner through her eyes, her mouth and her taste, then admits that the couple fight, and then chooses to stay. Its central idea is that a relationship can feel perfectly made for two people and still need repair. The poem never decides which of its two images is the true one, and that tension is where its interest lies.
The six lines trace a movement from looking to touching to tasting to quarrelling. It begins with eyes: "Her eyes danced with my own chocolate brown eyes." The verb "danced" makes the look between the two people mutual and playful, and "my own" slips the speaker into the picture, so the first thing we see is a pairing. The mouths come next, in the poem's first simile: they "fit together like long lost puzzle pieces that can't bare to part." The comparison suggests fate. Puzzle pieces are cut to match, and "long lost" implies the two were always meant to find each other. The spelling "bare" for "bear" is a slip, but it accidentally fits a poem so concerned with closeness and exposure.
The third line is the most openly emotional: "I love her, all of her. Every last inch of her." Its short, repeated phrases make it sound like speech, someone insisting on a feeling rather than shaping it. The repetition of "her" shows how completely she fills the speaker's attention. The next line pushes that into physical hunger: "When we aren't together I crave the long lasting taste she leaves me." The word "crave" treats love almost as an appetite, even a dependency, and "taste" turns a kiss into something that lingers after she has gone. The absence is felt in the body as much as in the mind.
Then the tone changes. "We fight, just like any ordinary couple do." The phrase "ordinary couple" is deliberately deflating after the romantic language before it, and the slightly casual grammar ("couple do") keeps the voice conversational. The speaker is defending the relationship against an imagined doubt, as if to say that conflict doesn't cancel the love. The line also carries a small reassurance: "But we always end up pieced together again." Here the poem quietly links its two images. "Pieced" echoes the earlier "pieces," but the meaning has shifted. The puzzle pieces fit naturally, while being "pieced together again" means something has come apart first.
That shift is why the final image works so well: "Like a glued back together vase." The poem ends on it, as a fragment that trails off without a full stop. A vase breaks and, once mended, still shows its cracks and stays fragile. The clumsy phrase "glued back together" sounds effortful rather than elegant, which seems appropriate. It admits that reconciliation takes work and leaves marks. The two similes pull against each other. The puzzle suggests a match that needs no effort, and the vase suggests a bond that has been broken and rebuilt. The poem holds both without resolving them, and that gives it more truth than a purely dreamy love poem would have.
Formally, the poem is free verse. It has no regular rhyme or metre, and the lines lengthen as it goes, from the compact third line to the sprawling fifth. This suits the content, because the fight and the repair are the messiest parts of the story and take the most words to tell. The language is plain and direct, with little decoration beyond the two similes, so those images stand out strongly.
The poem is significant because it declines to idealise. Many poems about young love stop at the kiss, but this one goes on to the argument and the mending. Its honesty about imperfection, and its choice of an object that is mended rather than new, make the commitment more convincing. The speaker doesn't claim the couple never break. The claim is that they keep putting themselves back together, and the poem leaves open whether the glue will hold.