When love, as they say, is knowing, how you know the other in reflected bowing,
A cabinet of mirrors that learn to see, how to hold its own hand, just to be.
Knowing is never enough, to simply know, it's what one does with the _how_ that makes it grow.
To know the self in perpetual truth, maintains the soul in youth.
What do you know as a lover, without the ego, or is identity still the defense you know.
When dreams speak your thoughts aloud, will you recognize their image in the cloud?
When the hand touches, and heart gives meaning, and words are not lost in dealing,
Declare to know who you are when you observe, that is how love preserve.
Then there is knowing in the task, when duality is the unmask.
Loving and intelligence are not the same, when seasons change the game.
Nuances of sensation in serenity, knowing when wisdom touches reality.
A listening silence that hears the magnitude unfold, true lovers know when to be bold.
To know the task is not to half-bake bread, it is the baker's shop of tradition instead.
Conditioned knowing, the wisest of all, proprioception knowing where is the ball.
Because if you can't explain it right there, living the moment is where.
In the intimate self-portrait is the solution, how do I love the magic conclusion?
But knowledge without action is just nostalgia, the poetic romance needs the becoming of utopia.
The book of individuality has a pause, sensing the meaning of the cause.
The foreplay of the mind, to understand the tender touch, or time is wasted in the much.
To observe the self, all tender, is memory in surrender.
Attending is the varsity of one world, where love plays in parables very old.
This is the heart in echoes, to stay awake inside learning, all the way.
The romantic part — reflection in glow, texture in exchange of flow.
Cognition and learning to love in reciprocity, when the student loves the teacher in own necessity.
When the beloved is ready, for the one who watches over the beloved study.
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