The speaker imagines the heart as a deep well filled with laughter and ecstasy. Lovers can tap into it, but then they sabotage the connection over tiny, ordinary complaints—unwashed spoons, too-familiar flesh—and push each other away. Yet that deep feeling is not lost; it belongs to them forever, and the speaker holds a quiet “still presentness” with someone even after the relationship fades.
In the second half, the speaker admits the other person’s image dims behind new furniture and everyday talk, but claims a recognition deeper than words or sight. Their true bond is a “secret garden,” not the one they crushed with fast cars and crowded appointment books. The mood is tender, regretful, and quietly assured: grief over lost closeness, but also a sense that real intimacy survives ordinary time.