The 1st 8 years of a relationship

During that time,

2922 consecutive days,

there has been more expanse

than events,

more richness

than dark moments.

At no time,

a complete loss of connection,

though for me,

several episodes in anguish

of visually exploring

a jump in front of

a #57 bus going towards town.

There has been much more

the secret entry into a tantra.

A way beyond worth

as its gatekeeper’s call.

Not so much gender assigned.

Roles divided by

preferences and styles.

Tones of our voices

have been methods of touch.

Approximately two hundred

and fifty million seconds

have passed

that we have shared,

almost at light speed,

certainly beyond

expectation’s account.

Sure we had vast

missed connections to resolve

for each of us.

We had the constellation of the other

to draw us along,

our senses of humor

for a compass-abound,

our basic knowledge of human nature

to provide us with

lodging along the way.

We drank from each other’s nectar

and claimed an unquenchable thirst.

Here we are over four million minutes

into our flight of dark night passage.

Mothers have died.

Agreements have come and gone.

We have argued like

few mountains to the wind.

We have been exceedingly primal

in honest ways.

We have hung up and called back.

We have searched and surveyed

the secret formula for sleep together.

Sometimes it has been

by sex and repose,

sometimes by exhaustion

from the day-spent,

sometimes by no sleep until,

as inevitable, emotionally present

with each other towards

what sleep remains.

It’s a little over

seventy thousand hours old

as new.

We may have invented

our separation to fill each day.

The deeper we go

behind all the obvious

and appearances,

the more similar we are.

The pain is so exquisite

from the other’s

slightest of insults.

The sea of shared selves so calm

when rowed with our voice-tones.

No great effort is stored

in the warehouse of the future.

No debt to be paid in full.

Nothing is perfectly clear.

Neither handcuffs nor wedding bands,

neither bondage nor burden of proof,

neither capture nor resurrection

can save us.

If we were chalkings

across a blackboard

then soon an eraser

to follow close at hand.

For nothing was permanent

for storage.

All was given freely.

We are more like one comet

breaking part its tail

with thick atmosphere

but never the comet

to crash and burn.

Just the sightings

for others in passing.

We are more like a process

of preening wings and tail

and less like living in a small universe

to look up and sigh.

Here we are almost 418 weeks

towards together.

What mechanism would that be

that places us in time and talks back?

Another second added

to another minute added

to another hour towards another day.

Soon to shape into week 418 complete

we are told.

I personally do not have a handle

on this measure of time.

It is not a mountain to climb

or a journey in passage,

it is us for now,

is all I care to trust.

For there have been many lessons

about expectation’s curses,

many assumptions

fallen by the wayside

through their display

I have hurt and been hurt

but never so deeply

as I have felt for you

and then for myself.

I have cried but never so deeply

as to shut down on you or then myself.

I have gone beyond

what experience has to offer

from the vasts of life’s buffet.

I do not have the same appetite

as ever before.

I am pursuant of the I.V. of you.

There are salvos and mind fields

but I do not die

or even come close to that.

I demystify more

than death would offer.

I see scarcity’s haunt

but am willing to challenge it

every step of the way.

I can only speak for me

using this hourglass

engrained with words.

Maybe timely as an attribute

but not intended as a measurement.

I am just passing my words

towards you as they are overheard.

You will have your thoughts to read

and privately respond.

I have said these words freely given,

risking but I know not what

is there to loose.

It is all opening as for what I see,

some time-lapsed, some explosions.

Scale no matter, for the movement

is the compliment.

What is love, is not the inquiry.

How love is, is more the means

and whatever that means,

there is now of movement,

unstoppable movement,

however great or small.

I am grateful more

as perception of life

from having meet you.

I am emotional more than

karma could have retrained me.

The fire in me has no justification.

I am not fooled by rational thought.

I make no sense with you

and it is the way.

If we had broken jaws,

ours wired together to heal us.

It would not be a joke wasted upon us.

Siamese twins with one shared rash

have nothing esoterically beyond our call.

We scratch each other’s nervous system

until fuming without relief .

Oh joy . . . oh joy

paradoxes to bless us all;

sarcasm, cynicism, righteous indignation,

rage, anger, antagonism, fury, wrath,

temper, contentiousness, resentment,

jealousy, wariness, disbelief, negativity,

scorn, doubt, distrust, skepticism,

disparagement, suspicion, disappointment,

pessimism all on display.

A choir, choruses to the flashpoint,

indicators of a deeper cause and claim,

passioned as permissioned,

yet in disguise.

What great cause so worthy

to be sung in every vain?

We are timeless as the vast space

between each pointy tic.

It is there

where the edginess endures.

It is the calm of chaos

beyond any measures

for the effortless wake-up

we have at dawn . . .