What one might call, “lovers”: Here are two souls drawn to one another, two bodies licked with flames quenched only in tight embrace, but these flames, when quenched, further blaze. Here are two minds grown young again, playful, teasing, a little bored with life, a little curious about the pools that twinkle in moonlit eyes.
What one might call, “a couple”: Here are two souls watching songbirds sing. How long do songs last? they ask. Do they know? Do we? Fingers graze and fingers touch; this is bliss, they say, this is happiness. But streaks of violet burn their gaze: Is this, is this, is this eternal? The question begs an answer, an answer none can give. A light embrace tightens, feathers turn to steel. Fingers clench and fingers cling, Is this, is this, is this…
What one might call, “married life”: Here are two souls come to anchor at harbor, having sailed a long, long way. Watching the anchor vanish in blue fathoms, they pray to never again cast off, never again roam solitude’s midnight waters. Here are two voices that echo, harmonize, though now and then, discord sounds. Here is a promise, here is a kiss, here there is still no certainty.
What one might call, “love”: Qui sait ?
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