Forms of Love

Paradise

Paradise
"Together they sought no refuge from paradise." 
                            --Michael Ventura

All the man thinks about are the things that
his wife,
his son,
his wife's friends,
his friends,
his son's friends,
his minister, if he had one,
his therapist, if his therapist did anything but listen,
and his colleagues, if it began to interfere with work,
would tell him he should not be thinking about--
her,
how much he wants her, needs her, desires her, loves her.

And all the woman thinks about are the things that
her husband,
her sons,
her husband's friends,
her friends,
her sons' friends,
her priest, if she would confess to him,
her therapist, if she had one,
her colleagues, if it began to interfere with work,
would tell her she should not be thinking about--
him,
how much she wants him, needs him, desires him, loves him.

But how can they not pursue their possession by the other,
the words that flood into them and make them gasp,
the hands that touch as no other hands have ever touched,
the kisses so soft and long that everything is pulled into the center of them,
the eyes and the silences they find searching further into the other's soul,
not searching for the bottom or the way out,
but searching for the greater depth,
the place where the gravity of the other lives no longer pulls,
the place where they meet, like two divers, naked,
with very, very, strong lungs.
Their love is this vast ocean, this deep forest, this paradise.

But everyone is waiting
the wife, the husband, the sons, the friends, the priest and minister, the therapist, the colleagues,
they are all waiting at the harbor, at the edge of the forest, at the gates of paradise
in taxis with meters running
all with clear directions to some place else.
There is always another place they want to go.
No matter what time,
there is always another place where they've never been
and its just opening
and everyone else is already is there
and we'd better hurry!

But there is no other place the man and the woman want to be.
They are in love, happy, content, warm, cozy, needless.
So this time, it will not be them,
it will not be some shameful desire for something else
that sends them scurrying for cover.
Yet if the horns of the taxis keep blaring,
and the drunks at the gates keep shouting about where they want to go and how soon,
the landlord here will again become angry and evict them both,
remove them, kick them out, give them the boot,
not for what they did or didn't do
but for the company they keep.