Love hard

I think we need to love one another harder. Not deeper, not sweeter, not with more confidence or faith. But harder, louder and with more gusto.
How to do that when the love faucet is on 24-7, and the well is threatening to run dry as the thirsty babies (all 3 of them) beg, open-mouthed, for more.
Habits developed in acts of innocent self-preservation become status quo. Retreat becomes comfort in contrast to the dissonance of attention. Locks need to be unlocked, but the babies, the babies, they are always on our jock.
Rusty bits and pieces rough starting each day. Annoyance is an easier gig than compassion, and the score is never settled. Even at day's end the specter of the need fouls the quiet. The click of the keyboard is the serenade.
There is love. Quiet and compact. Woven and tangled and sinewy from stasis.
Stretch, breathe, yell, laugh, fall. Shake, shake, shake it off. Breach the protective shell without scrambling the contents. Reveal, make raw, and heal.