You and I, at Last

You were worried that You would somehow disappoint,
although I knew exactly how the present was wrapped;

I was worried that I would somehow disappoint,
although you knew exactly how the present was wrapped;

Two woebegone fools in love, chittering, skittering, slipping,
into the moment of many, many lifetimes,
some past, and some yet to come;
once scattered, even shattered, shuttered, stuttered,
but now thrown

oh my, the grand reveal --
or the huge dismay:
how to react, what to do, what to say,
"if only (s)he did not look that way";
"(s)he is not what I expected,
how was this left undetected,
old miseries now reflected,
and yet I am here,
"We thought, for an instant, perhaps;

but no, that same spark in the eye
that We had both seen
in the bright illumination
of true love's gleam,
was right were we wanted it to be,
right there in that space without any space,
that space between You and Me;

like those well-worn sneakers,
and the favorite pair of seen-better-days jeans,
all that was not right, disappeared from our sight,
and love-at-first-sight became at once
all that it means, something tight,
so very right, so seamless and sleek,
and outrageously perfect and clean,
that you might look it over to see it again,
and you might say to yourself,
this must be "if" and not "when"
which of course are never the same;

and I looked at You,
and You looked at Me,
and a million memories
of a billion centuries
of a trillion lives lived came at once
upon Us, and We knew;

back then,
or out there,
where we have not yet lingered,
two lives intersect,
two lives connect,
two heartstrings
are deftly fingered,
leaving them intertwined,
interposed, entangled then, now
and forever more;
the two of Us,
the Model of Love
and the Keep of Trust,
passion most assured,
under such covers,
lust lurking in dark corners,
and in others;
but virtue and vows
not merely ceremonial bows,
but sacred pledges,
never breached;
but no matter --
star-crossed loves' irony
reached, as two become one,
yet apart;
still two beat as one,
in the heart;
fever, cast aside
in favor of pride worn, adorned, as We stand
side by side,
to be judged,
not on Our lesser selves,
but upon Our Love;

it is there, in the lying still
together that We proclaim:
Our love is no different,
than any that is named:
it is only Ours,
it is sacred to Us,
and We will not see it defamed;

but what, the reader exclaims,
is to be made of this meeting;
is it the end of the beginning,
or the beginning of neverending?

easy to answer, for Us,
I suppose,
as Our blushes rise quicker
than the scent of the rose,
so swiftly Our passions do rise
to the fore, that an answer
to such a question
deserves nothing more,
than a bid that the questioner
look on Our faces, and see all around,
the trails of love's laces:

I love You.

August 29, 2009, for the Wifey, the keeper of my heart and soul.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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