Just heard this song today for the first time in a really long time and forgot how much I love it. Had to find the lyrics and put them up here. . .Ahhh! The Cure. . .thank you for these heartfelt words.

Lovesong - The Cure

  Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am young again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am fun again

However far away
I will always love you
However long I stay
I will always love you
Whatever words I say
I will always love you

I will always love you

Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am free again
Whenever I'm alone with you
You make me feel like I am clean again

However far away
I will always love you
However long I stay
I will always love you
Whatever words I say
I will always love you

I will always love you

Into the Night of Falling Stars

I hear your voice in my bones at the blushing of dusk.
It is here I slip under the surface of these cool waters
and into the night of falling stars,
circling and gathering above and below me,
like the essential light of the single candle of kindness
you always offer.

The darkness is nothing in this liquid forgiveness,
where everything is possible,
and where I shine as my purest self.

If you arrive in this falling universe
and find the courage to plunge into this ocean—
wash out with the tide
into the place where sky and earth meet
like old souls on the horizon
of the bodies we left behind—

you will find yourself
swimming into my skin
and to the sugared center of abandon
sprinkled in the heavens
and on the flowing fields of lilies
that smooth the waves
heat wished to capsize
and drown all hope of freedom.

Follow your breath in this patient current
and the healing springs will carry you
into the calmest waters of absolute blue.
Call out like a bird
and I will answer
from the marrow of love.

Moon Over Monadnock

I tell myself not to look back
like a servant to the watch
I no longer wear—
the habit a ghost of the memory
of happiness.

But I know the moon is there,
hanging like a shadow over my shoulder--
rising over the single mountain on my horizon
and I can’t help but admire her yellow, aged beauty.

Even in the rear view,
after too many miles on this road,
she takes my breath away in a panic
at seeing her naked roundness
ascend the edge of the night.

I have begun to count the beads
on the strand of your soul
you share hungrily with me.
These prayers drift across the sky
just like the moon
and when I close my eyes to dream
you dissolve into my blood
to glitter and glow
from the inside out.

Tonight you will become the air inside
the bubbles under the surface of the water where I live
and remind me I am alive and the light
that fills the ocean of your cries
to gather me into your arms
and vanish into one body.

You have only to gaze at this August orb,
call my name into the gentle softness of this heat,
and I will arrive on a promise of patience—
slowly with the wisest ones who have anointed
me like a bride on the morning of her wedding.

The Hours After Midnight

The hours after midnight
I wander through the dark
doing nothing
but missing the empty spaces
between my fingers
and the feel of mystery
between the curve of my foot
and the promise of everything.

How is it possible to extract desire
from this exquisite blue of alone
in a bed not big enough for two?

And yet,
I fly so close to these flowers,
I can’t help but collect their pollen in my hair
and taste the sticky trembling on my breath.

All day I feel the hands of restlessness brush lightly
along the length of my arm
and where they land firmly on my hips
to steady my blurred vision.

And tomorrow the full moon rises
and lifts herself onto the canvas of the teacher
where she waits for the dialogue of the oldest lovers
and the careful instruction to begin.

Even the ocean cannot resist the tide on this shore
and the beautiful music she sings softly
into the ear of the one who insists
on opening his eyes at the first kiss.

What I would give for the morning
to spare me and to release the children of these ghosts
who have settled like August fog
under the shutters of my busy mind.

Mystical Horizon

I have never seen the moon
cut the shape of a sideways glance
stare orange at the end of the day
but there she was calling to my deepest dreaming
where cats and birds dance and fly away from each other.

There she was
with the smell of smoke
on her dressing gown.

There she was,
a piece of ripe melon
in the mouth of my lover
just waiting for him to bite down
on all that musky juice
and swallow.

Once in a lifetime
we are given a gift like this
and we must call for angels to witness—
to join us –
to gasp and linger on the edge
of the unmade bed.

The blessed ones know the signs of leaving
when they see them and they travel
to the watery sky with their eyes open
and smile to know when grace is noticed
and heeded and followed.

I let myself break down here
like a widow alone for the first night of forever
and the memory of the night before the wedding.

It is here I will wait
for the wounds to heal
into scars and the shape of my radiance
to return to the mystical horizon.

Paradise

In this summer,
in this garden of the last days,
in the place where I can only dream of the dead
and the ways they traveled to their graves
through particles of God and blood—
I am weary of the smell of the sweetness
at the bottom of the glass and the residue
of what love has become.

In the play I love the most
Adam and Eve become fire and water
and dance almost boiling near the flames.
When she decides to finally leave the garden,
divorce herself from something less than paradise,
before there is nothing left of her shimmering self
nearest her beloved,
she falls first as tears,
then as rain,
and collects herself happily
in the shallows of the purest lake.

In the end Adam
swims at these shores
with Eve on his skin every day
and never knowing she was there
to make this quiet peace
with a love that cannot be controlled.

On the last day
she is transformed
into the woman she must be
and is consumed by the sun.

The Swim

Dip the toes
to test the softness
of Silver Lake,
cool and smooth
like the inside of dreaming.

It is water the temperature of summer
and the touch surrounds me
with the two minds
of fear and longing.

How does a woman dive in
when she has always walked slowly—
each inch of submersion
carefully calculated
and felt fully
as the liquid of drowning
crawls up her skin?

Feet first—
totally shocking and numbing cold
encasing the calves and thighs,
the roundness of the middle,
arms dangling and flirting
until the point of no return
forces a plunge into the chest
and shoulders—
the gasp of release and movement,
the dance to stay afloat
to demonstrage the buoyancy
of flesh and blood
and breath.

The water tastes like wine
and sooths the skin
like iced whiskey
until I am drunk
and want to swim forever in this place
that is so much about the body
that the soul cries
for the gift of a thousand lives
just like this one. . .
here, .alone. . .quiet.

Stroke the water like an old lover.
Push the body toward shore,
caressing the effort,
just to emerge,
to die in the warmth of the sun
and be born to the suffering of water
again and again.

Tomorrow, at the dawn of the new day,
the air will be too cool for July.
I will pull the sheets away from my sleeping self
and climb down the hill toward the ancient lake
to plunge naked and clean again into the light.

If the sky opens and takes me then
it will be enough
to just go.