Sweet Spots

He spoke to me of love -

And I drift into the sound of vowels and consonants,
I see your lips move in my mind
And they repeat the word, the phrase
And it sounds so foreign
Yet it rings of the familiarity
Of an old favorite pair of jeans
Soft and worn well
The sweet spots rubbed just right
Where you can find them in the dark.

I respond to him in kind -

Repeating this phrase,
Three words that scare me
Yet are the most important three in existence
Strung together like notes
Of the hardest music to play correctly
So is the strength of such a phrase,
Yet it is more of a sigh, for I know
You are in dilemma
Throughts draped and scattered across
The floor of your mind
Like the remnants of a child's party
Left for the parents to pick up;
Your affection is gently felt
Yet it comes from a medium of existence
That I cannot share,
That you don't truly understand
And in that state comes desire
For what's on the other side of fences;
Perhaps my side's intriguing angle
Draws you near, but I fear soon
You will find the grass will grow too high,
The sun's shiny morning fingers on dew
Will become an irritation,
And the wood will look dull and lackluster,
Once the thrill of the new is gone.

But it is your affection,
A joyous thing that,
That has kept parts of me well-fed as of late;
And that is what it is;
Affection, pure, bright and beautiful
But nothing more -
Yet, nothing less
And thus seems to be so right.
The irony is not lost upon me
That a modern day Goldilocks
Has stumbled upon her greatest challenge yet.