My hands love your hands
like a jigsaw, like roots in the soil
and oh, how they grow. They love
the way hands know how to love,
softly, gently, always working for a rest.
And my eyes love your eyes
when they're looked at, looked into.
It's love in the same way that divers love the ocean;
how astronauts cherish the moon,
the love my eyes love is a way of saying
that learning about you is the only thing I want to study.
Dearest, my lips love your lips
because there is nothing else in the world
they could ever fit quite right onto;
they ache for miles as I walk home to you,
the same way Jesus walked on water
and pirates searched for treasure.
They will love you when they are chapped
and love you when they are quivering
and love you when they are so far apart
that they understand how atoms can never touch.
The way my face loves your face feels so much
like loving myself, like mirrors are suddenly kind
because my face is loved, and how could that not be beautiful?
How could cheeks be rosy or tear-stained
and still feel the same?
Still cold without you,
my face loves your face and your hands the same,
my face loves feeling like it isn't going to be longing and untouched forever.
And my heart, oh, my heart
loves you the way the sun burns.
My heart knows that one day
it will be engulfed and ache in dying
and yet not for a second will it cease to revolve
around you. Around your heart,
which beats in the way the world turns;
my heart believes solemnly that yours is the centre of the Earth,
its beats as revolutions,
and dare it break, dare it stop
even for a moment,
the world would collapse,
because nothing can love and be loved
the way your heart loves and is loved;
I mean it not lightly,
from my lips and my voice and the pull in my chest,
the world would end were your heart ever to stop beating,
stop loving. My heart is a soldier,
my heart is a bodyguard,
my heart will lay down its feeble beats for yours in an instant,
and still your heart is kind.
Your heart makes mine swell,
gives it confidence and understanding,
gives it love upon love upon love,
that beats through every atom of my body
making me who I am.
I am who I am,
all those little parts that seemed so incoherent and ill-fitting before this,
because I love you.
A poem for my wife for Valentine's Day.