To love you is to glimpse a taste, a foretaste,
of what heaven must be like or else a memory
of the garden paradise that Eden must have been
before the serpent bearing succulent seduction in
apple-
coated sin with syllables of sibilance slithered its way
in,
crawled and climbed and wrapped itself around the tree
of knowledge and plucked the fruit of death.
There is a harmony bred of maturity that only those
who
experience will ever know; how we no longer ever quarrel
and fight, how we understand each other, sometimes
without utterance of a word, understand that there is
more
to love, much more to love, than youthful passion.
Yes there is regret, regret we never met in those
early lonely
years of volatile and futile searching for that
soul-mate
until we found each other, found a rib-love,
a love like Adam must have known and felt and shared
with Eve on the evening of the first day of their
bliss.
Never in my wildest flights of optimistic fantasy, my
love,
my heartbeat, did I dream this time would ever come
when I am almost unable to write another love song
because there is no sadness left in our love
to write about except to say that one day...
to write about except to say that one day...
For should I ever lose you it would be like losing
sleep,
losing myself forever to the deeper sleep to come.
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