Love should be as generous as the crescent moon which s never jealous of her harvest twin. She loses herself routinely but always refills her form. I envy how she stands out in darkness. Her partner can command the sky yet will fade into the background as shooting stars and constellations share the stage.
I want my love to be as expansive as a soft magenta sunrise highlighting all that is beneath in a holy pink glow. And at dusk, I want to be a distinct as the hard black outline of bare oak limbs against a blue skyline.
I want to be as deliberate and sturdy as the porcelain tub where I have held my daughter before she was strong enough to balance the full weight of her head. Ceramic tile walls have soothed middle-aged limbs and tiny plastic basins have cleansed swollen feet and babies. I have reached into bubbly water, lathered up soap and down rose petals, have rubbed peppermint scrub to exfoliate what is dead and let coconut oil hold in the warmth and moisture.
I want a love as reliable as spearmint Double mint gum which plucks my tongue each time it makes contact. It never tries to be sweet or to blow bubbles. It knows its own flavor and texture and when gum is what I want it never disappoints.
It could be as holy as the showers, which have held me naked and asked for nothing in return. Endlessly poured on by heat that never requests a thank you. Forty-six years later and I am giddy as I undress, anticipating the water, which I have come to count on and know even before I am wet. This is the only beating on bare back I welcome, where pressure wipes tense shoulders. As ordinary as routine and as sacred as sanctuary, my gratitude transformed to worship, by the constant renewal. That’s the sacred sort of steamy that will keep me gasping to breathe in.
Love could be as fresh as my coffee, which never gets tired or old or boring. I have yet to outgrow the flavor or practice of preparing. I am rewarded with a tireless craving which keeps me committed and returning my same mouth to edge of cups where my longing is savored.
I want to float in a bubble, not protected or removed, but translucent and roomy. In it, from this perspective, we can be hand-holding adults, held in utero, by a pregnant world offering her gifts wrapped in a rainbow glistening shimmer.