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The shape of a hand, the hip
Which swings beneath a dress,
The smoothness of a brow, an upper lip,
A plea marked by intelligence and distress,
An eye which sparkles in our direction,
A nonchalance, a hidden desire,
A face, which after friendly inspection,
Intimates a wild and daring fire
Might give us comfort beneath cool trees,
Or warm us listening to music together in bed,
Or make deciding which positions give us ease
A thing to love, or a rapturous kiss, instead,
A laugh which we find easy to return,
A hope, heaven imagined mutually,
A decision to stay, to agree, to turn
Another way and still love that other way greedily.
The sweet revenge of a deep wrong,
Justice in tears, in a heart, in a song.
Things which make us love go on forever,
The origin of country, the history
Of race, the flooding of a particular river,
The ancient slavery that today breaks free,
The respect of children and family,
Attachment to nature, fate, brave modesty;
All things make us love.
The turning of the moon below us, the silent stars silent above.
