Two people who have come together from a distance confess, finally, that both were too afraid to act two years ago; now they can laugh at that old cowardice. The speaker calls the beloved “my cynical dear,” which sets the tone: tender but clear-eyed. They are in love while knowing love often fades “with flowers and years,” yet they choose to honor it anyway. The middle of the poem is quietly intimate—the speaker wakes at four, listens to the lover’s heavy breathing for two hours, and refuses to sleep, as if staying awake can hold the moment longer. By nine, the speaker notices the shape of the lover’s ear pressed into an arm and celebrates it silently. They part over hot coffee without grief, deciding to meet the future with dry humor rather than tears. The mood is warm, wistful, and gently defiant.
Makura-Kotoba — Summary
Our coming together from far ends amazes us both, neither knowing the other was cowardly too, two years ago, now we confess it, laughing.
We joy in such presence my cynical dear: we are in love, knowing it usually passes with flowers and years— still honoring it.
On waking at four by your beautiful person I listened to your heavy breathing two hours with no wish to sleep: I refused to sleep.
With sun through shades at nine I woke again, saw the perfect flower of your ear on my inner arm, pressed into it. Celebrated quietly another hour.
Now we part with hot coffee and without grief planning, instead of tears, outrageous attacks on future years to keep our hearts as dry as wit whatever our eyes think of it.