The Greatest Love on Earth

isn't a perfect constancy of joy;        
multidimensional mornings        
or burgundy omens at dusk        
       
but a million minuscule deaths        
and resurrections of Becoming
more than you were        
       
I wrote once that Love      
was a bite: raw cacao      
pine and bare feet      
spoon of ice cream      
swallowing a shard of ice      
       
none of which are dreams      
but pleasured senses coupling       
pain of fading experience        
       
The Greatest Love on Earth      
isn't perfecting fantasy      
       
It's enduring reality  
in constancy of change        
~