Solis

English seems particularly poor in its grasp of kissing. We have a hundred synonyms ("smooch"), some unattractive ("snog") but precious little subtlety. The Romans knew that the kiss on my child's forehead doesn't even come from the same universe as the kiss my lover hopes to spray across me.

osculum: a friendship kiss
basium: an affectionate kiss on the lips
suavium: a lover’s kiss

The Germans are even more inventive, knowing that ...

I originally posted this poem on September 7, and it was lost in the subsequent server crash. My thanks to the indefatigable chip for having saved it.

A sort of tribute to a woman's quiet realization.

I do not know what he sees, but I see
eyes of surpassing tenderness
and calm, a calm like the dignity
of matter. I love the open ocean
blue-grey-green of his iris, I love
the curve of it against the white,
that curve the sight

...

It's a day about love, an emotion that we too often screw up. We expect effortless magic, neglect the work, ignore the risk. In truth, it's harder and more bitter than we wish. It's work. Anais Nin once wrote, "Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

But you already knew that, didn't ...