i believe in the quiet revolution the hum of the garden at tea time, the dance of rain on the rim of a pond, the fingers that pluck to the beat of the heart, the soul that bathes in the glow of a flicker of flame, the pen dipped in hot stroking ink bleeding trails on the page (two leaves of a book that forget their separation), pastel haystacks coloured fuzzy outside the lines, bristled lips on bristled lips after a tour at sea, salty-sweet flakes of the forbidden fruit a smudge on the cheek of Mona Lisa, the man in the moon in the mirror.
love is looking at herself in the mirror.
so perfectly, the mirror reflects her just as she is.
and as love gazes into love, forever love stares into infinity.
seeing no failure, no body part too big, only
wonder. love looking into love
two see one