One another’s best
we two sat by a bank
where the wild violet grew,
holding hands, holding
each other’s gaze,
we thread a double skein
of pictures propagated
by our eyes
whilst inner thoughts
(our souls perhaps?)
negotiate, as we like statues
still, say nothing.

If someone standing near
could hear our silent speech
a pure concoction they would
take away, of you and I,
of ecstasy unperplexed
telling how we love, (not ***)
but all that makes both one,
each this and that.
Just as the violet redoubles still
and multiplies, our love with
one another interanimates;
we know of what we’re made:
we are intelligences,
and our bodies simply spheres.
We owe them thanks because
they thus did us, to us
at first convey.

And so we sit
our fingers knitted
into that subtle knot
which makes us man
and woman, but one to all
who look upon our love revealed.
Love's mysteries grow in our thoughts
but the body is where it lives.
We’ve heard this dialogue of one
and know it belongs in our bodies too.