Those of you who know me, don't be weirded out. I've been reading Sherwood Anderson. This poem stems from reflection on a question he explores in his novel Poor White.

Can the human longing for intimacy be satisfied by other humans?

The motions of my lover remind me
Every time that she is close
And she is good
And she will stay.

With her I rest, fully known-
The fearful mystery of my own person
Dissolved in a quiet embrace.

Oh Love, cover over my offenses
With your sweet, persisting presence
And with movements of devotion
Soft and pleasing as the falling rain.

I bend low like a willow branch.
Only here can I weep without wilting.
For in the peace of our union
I know that I am safe.