To Love Again
I would like to know a woman well again.
And for her to know me just as well.
Each of us to know the other
honestly, completely,
openly and passionately.
To know in such a way
that would not allow that miracle to fade
to some manufactured flimsy
of what it once had been.
Then that we had
would never sour.
We'd bear no witness to its lustiness
neglected, starved,
paling to some shrunken thing,
smothering with its dry and celibate corpse,
our song, our anthem.
And so, before that warmth and yearning
could cool and weary, we would,
with smiles and hugs and kisses,
and maybe tears,
say goodbye
and never think to hesitate
to love again.
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