They move with a strange reverence flowing in their blood, when together, for each part of their two existences bears the other's clear imprint, and so they must be together with utmost care, so neither suffers any pain.
They never grow reckless, nor does such urgency ever work between them as would easily overwhelm a companion. Just as in youth one clings to the beloved, exactly so they remain with one another.
On nights that tremble, nights when even stars fade in the cold, nights when they both edge a little closer toward old age, whether from fear of departure or from habit, they understand: now is the time to shed all pretense of distance!
When love moves from childhood toward old age, then people step away from all these childish thoughts and arguments arranged for a lifetime or a moment and instead sleep a while in each other's arms.
At a certain age, all celebrations of love are not only of desire, but of tenderness too; not only of sexuality, but of life itself.
Those who have reached that celebration— their love is not led astray by darkness or delusion; rather their hearts keep trembling with that celebration's echo.
When one's lips and tongue belong not only to oneself, then even a kiss is taken with great care, preserving oneself at any cost... not merely for one's own need.