Anniversary

Didn’t I stand there once, 
white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper, 
swearing I’d never go back? 
And hadn’t you kissed the rain from my mouth? 
And weren’t we gentle and awed and afraid, 
knowing we’d stepped from the room of desire 
into the further room of love? 
And wasn’t it sacred, the sweetness 
we licked from each other’s hands? 
And were we not lovely, then, were we not 
as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?