Love’s inarticulable language of the lips
Moves memorable murmers through our fingertips,
Now pressing points so indubitably true
The logic of more loving moves on through
Till life’s conclusion is ideal bliss
Made in the moment of this lasting kiss.
Four lips, four eyes, that open up, then close;
One breathed perfection of a mirrored rose.
Four hands, two bodies, merging in so right,
Their hearts beat singly in their sacred might,
Where thought and dream are enmixed and stirred
Till “I” and “You” become a won one word.