There is something of a tradition of love poetry in the Sufi Way:
Systems of feeling and blood pressure
Compliment each other,
Crescendos of pulses
Instinct and heart, beat time,
Their sword plunges
Through the separation knot.
Then a form appears,
Her vibration in a harmonic,
Her screen reflects back
Deflects me back,
Some words of her hearting
Dive deeping, my submerging wreck.
This yearning is no rushèd reed
No poetic cypher of yester fear,
It is sympathetic, near to my soul,
Handed back to source, sad.
So much sadness to turn to gold,
Clutching at straws, at signs
Spun for Rumpelstiltskin’s pawn.
Earth is more, a kind of, a sort of,
Plant; sorting, kinding a way
Through solid concrete.
I love you, but you knew that.