Love, is built with tender hands and malleable hearts. Confidence but not arrogance. Curiosity and adventure. Slow, intricate sex like oil paintings and clay molding. Yes, built like brick and mortar or straw and sweat. Love. Is all these things. It takes hands and strong backs. For these homes aren’t built on land. But on bodies. Strong frames to lift these monuments. Love is best nurtured with honesty and trust. With compassion and respect. I have known you in dreams. In friendships and in hopes of better tomorrows. My hands. They haven’t had chances to mix in soil. To mold. And I know you. Your soul at least. You’re eager to construct. Eager for expansion. To lick your back and taste your muscles relax as you breathe my breath. These are steps to the architecture. To construction and planning. I have heard your chakras. Sensed your tension in the way you sigh and say hello. The weight of burdens. For nothing weighs as free as love. I tell you these remedies in poetry. In writings like parchment and quills. Love, is you being free. Weightless. Open. It’s being the complete you. Yourself.