secrets of love

The secrets of love is in togetherness

To be for, 

The other,

Whose hand on my body feels like mine, adore

Whose gaze is watchful and not woeful, no more

At twenty four

 

There is a sort of gaze that is whore-making

That sends your heart wrenching, convinced

Of your own rotten core, 

Lying at another’s door

a whoring Amour

no more

just yours

 

So what are its secrets? 

The whispers

the pursuit of the forness of for-ness

Of sacrificing speed for the shape of us,

Of sacrificing efficiency for a shared experience

 

Its recipe is slowing down, waiting, observing, hearing, holding without moving, observing without speaking, waiting without leaving, slowing down not for the sake of speeding up later, rest not for the sake of work.

The most beautiful things are waking together, falling asleep together, sharing a meal, making tea and waiting for it to brew together, walking together, your hand in mine. It is bending down to pick up a leaf, showing it to you in ecstasy and insisting on bringing it home and you letting me, begrudgingly. It is me watching as you rummage through our cupboard to find a small glass jar to store it and displaying it in our living room. 

 

What is the most beautiful thing that happened this week? You, a flat basketball trying to bounce, in a puddle of mud, for me. You 

Trying hard to bounce, and high you went. I 

watched and counted. I saw it. I see you. In the 2am coffee, in the morning muesli, and the evening candles.