This is what I know of love:
I recall the mad science of light
flickering over our bed,
worshiping in the temple of my body,
the purity of symbol
the snake
the apple tree
the girl who eats figs
the curve of your hips.
Something of texture –
tactual raw emotion
in the gut, chest, throat.
Something of sound –
the chord you strike entering a room,
the brush of finger tips through hair,
the whispering chant of breath.
Something of scent –
savor, I know only savor.
Something of color –
white light obliterates color,
the afterglow contains them all.
This is what I know about love.
I know nothing at all of love.