loving in color

I cannot talk about love
and only be talking about love
as an idea that floats in the air
between two pairs of eyes
that can’t stop devouring each other

I don’t have the luxury of
talking about love as a thing
in itself, alone, a single strand
binding two people together
on a raft of desire in a vast sea
where we were swimming alone

When I talk about love
I am talking about generations
of travelers seeking refuge
in unfamiliar places, spending
a lifetime trying to wash
the dust of pain and hunger
from the cracks in the soles of their feet

When I talk about love
I am talking about the memories
that live in our blood, our
muscle tissue, in our skin
and our eyes and our teeth
and our hair

When I talk about seeking love
I am talking about seeking the
place where two people can
meet, carrying their multitude of
inherited and lived histories
and find solace, rebirth, creation.

When I talk about love,
I am talking about nothing that
can be called simple, nothing
that can be called easy,
but which feels like it.

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