We have the luck of being lovers
who have struggled to love and somehow,
after decades of riptide and undertow, we still
find ourselves loving and dancing, our currents
driven by more than desire and hope.
There was a moment tonight when
the mandolin player transformed his fingers
into a magical surge and I looked at you,
the slight wave of your head, the secret
smile on your lips, and every cliff I’ve ever
built around my heart collapsed in a single
watery moment as we danced, my hand floating
along your chest as we turned, my smile incandescent
through sudden tears, and I knew I would swim every
heartache again just to love and be loved like this.