did we make love? I’m not sure. I don’t think we “made” anything. I think we already had plenty.
I think the lovemaking was metaphor, I think it was art. I think art is taking something ordinary and turning it into a symbol, the redemption of matter. To take what is mundane and make it sacred, some secret act of magic, some enchantment.
I don’t think we made love— we already had all the love in the world. I think we made art, though. I think we told each other of our love, a confession: our hearts already were one. Our bodies followed, told of that truth.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 