why must love
in all its gentleness
when it stretches out its hand, offer both
to be hurt, 
            and to hurt?
that as much as
we bare ourselves, our weaknesses to our beloved,
willing and ready
to suffer any pain to see our loved one smile,
sometimes,
we make them cry inside - 
sometimes so badly
we can almost see the fresh wound
that will dry into another rough scar
on a heart that for a little time,
in our arms, 
soft and warm, 
beat so gently in its rest?