our poetry

As I lay beside you in the bed yesterday, both of us drifting to blissful slumber, I wanted to say something. Actually all day long I wanted to say something, but after the fourth time I barely had any command of the English language, so that would never work.

I wanted to say something profound. Something about how much you meant to me, how much just lying by your side warmed me and filled me with light. Nothing seemed to be enough. So today I went looking for a love poem. I didn't want something modern, because I was convinced people don't feel things like this anymore- it seemed to belong to a more innocent yet earthy age.

So I looked at the classics, but nothing seemed to suffice. Those poems were written about THEIR loves, the way they saw it.

I thought then that I should write my own poem, as I do that from time to time. I could find words, and metaphors, and paint pictures with them, but suddenly I realized something important: Words are abstractions. They are things invented by humans to convey something unobservable to other humans. A word can help a person feel what I'm feeling, but it just isn't quite enough.

What is our poetry, yours and mine? Ours is the way your soft hand feels in mine, trembling sometimes as we touch fingers, almost afraid to breathe. Its rhythm is your heartbeat, felt as my hand lies on it after making love, hammering softly in your chest. Its meter is the sharp intake of breath as you feel me touch you, as well as the easy, deep and regular sound of your breath as you drift off to sleep in my arms. The poetry is in your eyes as they search for my soul in mine, in your mouth as it curves in a smile when you find it, the way your hair falls in your face when you catch me looking at you and turn quickly with a smile and a softly breathed "what?"

Our poetry is our touch, our dreams of the future, the things we do together to build that. Our poetry is in the sunset we watch together, the cheese on your lip that I kiss away, and the laughter that follows. I see it when you brush your hair, looking thoughtfully at the television or nothing at all, I hear it when you gasp and explode in laughter as I tickle you. I sense it when I know you are thinking about me and we reach out for each other at the same time.

Our poetry is our every moment together, and I can never write it because there are no adequate words for such as this. So let us not say it, dearest. Let us not sing it, love. Let us live it. Let us create masterpieces in every moment we share, in every touch, look and breath. We need not share these with readers, we need only keep them in our hearts, for now and always, dancing to their rhythm and thrilling at the memories we make.