Love is never vague or general

Love is never vague or general:
It's all about thin fingers and fat toes.
What makes someone attractive no one knows,
But all know that it isn't rational.

There is a chemistry, some catalyst:
A scent, a lilt of voice, a social grace,
Some subtle hint impossible to trace,
Fit fodder for a gentle satirist.

But passion is, of love, merely the seed:
It's love itself that most engenders love.
And here again, mysteries silent move,
Shifting darkly where there is most need.

Love is about a casual caress,
A patient silence in which souls can dance,
An obvious, clumsy gesture towards romance,
A comfort zone where long, hard days undress.
 

It's all about the richness of a night
In which two lovers work to keep the glow:
The feel of skin, the way a tongue moves slow,
The thousand tiny things that make things right.