Two bodies on a mattress lie,<br></br>but even ruddy roses die.<br></br>When morning comes, two bodies rise,<br></br>they go about their daily lives,<br></br>where body and body shall not diverge<br></br>(but even ruddy roses die)<br></br>and when body and body have lost the urge<br></br>to lay together in a breathless sigh,<br></br>and hearts beat slow beneath their touch,<br></br>something else must yet remain,<br></br>a love that’s not recorded much.<br></br><br></br>Equanimous, it’s unadorned and plain:<br></br>a bodiless desire, longing without pain,<br></br>a sense of being right at home<br></br>without the need to leave again.<br></br>Even ruddy roses die, and bodies too shall go.<br></br><br></br>When cold winds wrap a pair of lovers,<br></br>that unsung love’s what keeps them from the falling snow –<br></br>not fiery passion or the many others,<br></br>which burn out in the frigid night –<br></br>but a sheltered love that binds two spirits tight.<br></br>
Add comment