No Rhyme Or Reason To It
I can not make you believe
anything you do not want to.
But know, you signed your name
across my heart. I felt every stroke,
true and clear.
You tapped lightly until the beat
matched the pulse of my heart
and yours.
You are a part of my definition
of all that is good and glorious,
grateful and generous.
If I never touched your skin,
nor felt you touch mine,
if ever I felt your breath
upon my cheek or you, mine,
you have become a part
of my sweetest existence.
In places too sacred to mention
we share thoughts, words, wants.
Our paths have crossed
and in the heart of it
lies love.
I can not define it for you,
nor make you feel it, taste it.
It is skin and soul-knowing
and holy, yes holy communion
between two who tug
at each other like a baby from breast.
There is no rhyme or reason
to love. You can pretend
it has not touched you and protest,
but in the end, it will have
its way with you
and you shall know ecstatic pain
in your acceptance, or loss, of it.
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