recast, at last

You scream when
Your boy surprises You,
and I imagine that it is instead
some kind of bug
that has arrived unannounced
to Your space;
and then,
as You sleep,
and I listen to the unique sounds
that are You,
at peace,
resting, nesting, testing
the limits of dreams,
the measure of schemes,
the way that Our Love gleams,
even hidden under those pillows,
the way time has a way of taking
all of the winnows to task,
seeking only what will last,
only what eternally matters,
and my resolve, and your desire,
are both left in tatters,
and Our Plan left disrobed,
is more than We can stand,
and We digress,
to a formalness,
that knows no past,
no history that can ever be cast,
as more than just two,
just Me and You,
at last.

September 23, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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