The Bridge

For most, a happy thwack from rapture's glove
is how they learn of love. The spoken word
can only tantalize emotions of
a joyous soul ecstatically stirred.
One's love, declared, is weightless - mere meringue-
unless those words are bolstered by the force
of heart and mind and muscle as a gang.
Torrential times can sweep us from the course
our dreams require. But conscious love sustains
that bridge between flesh beings, that both may share
the tender bliss which renders all the pains
of earthly sorrows possible to bear.
Though hurricanes smash rafters to the floor
Love wavers never, multiplying more.