speak in plain English. No secrets attached.
To argue in moments forever rehashed.
The language of love is a mystery bent
on an understanding never leant to us.
A gentle touch upon the cheek.
A mist of tears, so bittersweet.
A wisdom ever growing young and old.
A gnosis of the spirit seeking soul.
Forever in a sunlit sigh.
A unity of low and high.
Transcendence reaching into mortal form.
Moment after moment, all reborn.
Stretching into intimate infinity.
Reaching into time's eternity.
Pulling back and rushing in.
Knowing not of mankind's sin.
As if a rose were opening within a sunlit sea.
Glittering in waves of harmony.
Rushing through the groove we knew.
Changing as the etching grew
into the love that flows between we two.
Expanding in an intricacy given
in a weave of tapestries that intertwine.
Living through the moments of our lives.
Neither here nor there, but everywhere.
As if an undivided ecstasy of air
were being breathed by all that's fair.
To rise and fall into the joy and sorrow.
And then to simply let the love live on...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .