Is there anything

greater

than the beautiful

nothing

that gets done with

gingered languour

that full-of-sweet

nothing

when you are

lying in bed

next to someone you love

and after having participated

in each other’s mysteries

with a relish

near to grieving

you simply lie there

side by side

breathing

side by side

having annulled time

in the way that only

animals and angels can

side by side

holding hands

deliciously full

of sweet nothing

which is love’s other name

and the only thing that’s happening

the only thing that matters

in your world

is this nothing

this love

and when her voice

a softly tapering stream

requests

that you dream aloud

softly

and tell her a story

you tell her the story

about the girl

that came from the sea

dripping lacy white jewels

and the boy who

followed her

to the ends of the earth

to this bed

where sweet nothing time

reigned supreme

where love

bruised the best kind

of softly.