A Woman Loves a Woman
In making love to a woman, there is no morbid thought As to kiss the lips of my skin and as to touch the skin of my flesh… As to feel a heart so similar to mine, That knowing us on the same bed, on the same ectasy Will suffice. To make you mine as the beauty of life That although cannot bring life is in itself more passion Than would ever exist between a mere man and a woman. Because who are you to say this isn’t love. If I love what I am made of, Who are you to tell me I cannot love its repetition embodied elsewhere… As for those who think they know love In its many forms and shapes, ways and styles… I am telling you that to love a woman is to love yourself. I’ve seen my feelings through your eyes, as my dear, they are my eyes. Embraced within the forbidden task of loving myself In loving you twice as much… A woman loves a woman and who are you to say That God also didn’t intend it that way.