Better with every telling , the story of the night we met,
our creation mythology, filled with revelry and beer.
My gemini to your cancer- constellations sharing stars
aligned just so with the conjunction of planets
perfectly formed in the cataclysm of desire.
Our saga continued with heroic deeds and herculean tasks,
all spilling across pages of years. Tattooed on our faces,
deeds fair and foul, most forgotten and some forgiven,
all returning to that original sin. Our garden created
and cultivated with four hands, labored,
and on occasion, nurtured by an angel or two.
Willingly we return to that first moment, revisiting
the past lore, embellished golden with retelling.
The myth of our own making, epic, comic, tragic-
the end will be as the beginning, a story better
for the telling and perfectly formed in the stars.
We’ve lost our capacity to count.
Our years together number thirty something-
(how long have we been married?)
Too many kisses to enumerate –
(except for that singular kiss. You know the one,
when the room held its breath
for the count
And that ice age when I stopped counting on you
(but you never subtracted,
only multiplied your love)
No, we’ve lost our capacity to count-
higher math and the calculations of our applied physics
have overwhelmed the
But numbers aren’t everything.
*** Brian and Claudia are jousting it out today at the Dverse Pub Tournament of Champions. Our prompt is to take a line from one of their poems and create one of our own. I chose the line ‘we’ve lost our capacity to count‘ from Brian Miller’s poem-‘if I stay-‘
Too much chocolate and intimacy,
our emotions crowd
this small room.
The overwrought day of love and hearts
founders with the consumption.
Thank God these feasts are few and far between
and the dull days
that drift from indifference
even in the thinnest context
for us to rest our heads upon.
Love will again become happily perfunctory
without the need for overloaded emotions
drying on our faces.
Too much is too much
and I willingly give back
all those candy hearts and paper doilies.
Give me the day to day
workmanship of your love,
the confection melted away
to the unsweetened morsel of us.