I used to think that love meant fire
that it was either passionate insanity
or it was nothing
Even after being maddeningly burned
Like antiseptic on a wound
if it hurt it must be working
But then I liked the careful way you liked me
I love the gentle way you love me
and I savor the steady way you steady me
And now I think the only fires in love
should be from our tangled, gentle heat
And the only passionate insanity
from the steady way we savor each other