Can I look into your eyes and mean it
when I say that knowing you
will make me never long for another?
Let me say (instead?):
There is (with you) a greater degree
of contentment and commitment
than I have ever allowed or enjoyed.
I could say:
My love for you is focused as logic,
giddy as champagne, warm as a hot tub
and bright and burning as a laser.
The strain of love’s a medley of changes –
no lullaby, but a rising, swelling dedication,
that bridges to an unwavering march.
Surrounded by elaborate and colorful pageantry
that winds a route completely impromptu
for which we are totally unrehearsed,
our hearts, drumming within the cavalcade,
synchronize to the parade’s harmony,
while we hold each other in steadfast step.