“who would cry being loved, when even such tinkling comes of the loving?”
“Grasses” by Alfred Kreymborg
<•> we all make lots of love in the same way as billions of others
grunting huffing noises of neural tissues torn and reborn
but the notes and noises we make, keep, unique no one else’s
the bored and the low thinkers saying “honey, you just wrong,”
the tinkling sounds are the silent mitosis of cells splitting and then rejoicing rejoining, definable only as unique
so we both weeping, side by side, only we together can hear the sounds of our life becoming and being, no one else quite can be so specific you could be there and still not hear the heat of our love making
who would cry being loved, by the creative silences we have just written?
we would. we do. we are the noisiest lovers ever. tinkling laughter. creating.