The Real Thing (Poetry)

In retrospect, the others didn’t count for much —
the offhandedness of casual affairs
that flared and died, ephemeral, and failed to touch
the mark, while tightly buttoned love declared
a penchant for uncomplicated flings —
slight, sexual encounters without strings.

The currency of tenderness was seldom part
of any mutual bargaining before,
now such sweet exchange strips bare one cynic’s heart
as affection warms two bodies to the core
and, after bonding, knows a finer bliss —
the chemistry of comfort in a kiss.

No awkwardness, no silent smoke, no rush to leave —
each gives to each the kindness of a smile
and, secure in close proximity, believe
forever could be theirs so reconcile
themselves to future happiness and trade
reciprocal endearments, freely made.