(Because "B" is in love & struggling with it right now, this is my favorite Gwendolyn Brooks' poem. Hey, B, like I was telling you, we can't understand love & should never, ever try to.)
To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
Shuts a door-
Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash
B - Sleep good, sweets. It's been a rough few days, but you are going to be alright & I'm going to be alright. Alright? LOL
*Thanks to Poem Hunter.
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