Who is Love?

I’ve had many lovers,

I’ve made love many times,

but my love was found in the reflection of me in;

your eyes

your soul

your way.

Fingers grip flesh so deep it pierces the skin,

hurting you, strengthening me,

we continue in this ritual of emotions,

too strong to be expressed physically,

into the moment before the release,

when two souls become one entity,

and leave bare bodies on exposed sheets.

Lucid dreaming as you thrust your energy into me,

Tangible pain yields tantric bliss.

 

You are love.

“In our Western understanding of time we involve the correlative of distance. The past is away in that direction, the future in that, and the present is just here, where I happen to be. But we speak of the passage of time; times come and go, the day will come. We remain in place and observe the flow of time, just as we sit at the cinema and watch, fascinated, as images fly before our eyes. The plane of time is shattered; it is composed of moments, ad infinitum, in perpetual motion.”

N. Scott Momaday, “On Indian-White Relations: A Point of View”