The Greater Good

After talking all night, where is love?
If we move words around,
will we find answers we never asked?
If I had to name this love,
would it be the greening of new leaves?
Would it be light on the other side of a wall
where we can hear the thirsting for love,
the neighbors sighing while making love
like incredible crickets?

I want to have the right words
and tones like a violinist tuning.
I want the boats of hearts launching in calm,
where the shores are reachable
with small assured patience.
I want the blind love, the hopeless love,
the one restless night after another,
one of continuous fever for more.

The one that tolerates my mistakes,
my impractical urges, the one who sees
beyond skin and religion, the one,
the true one, where it opens many doors
like a pages in a book
continuously being written.

Love should be a green grape
waiting to be changed
while hidden under a camouflage of leaves.
Ripening takes time.
It listens for the perfect conditions.

I, too, am listening.