our wedding night, during the fire ( I, the groom)

bret marston hall fit for my lips

When the bottle was empty, upturned in ice, when the songs from downstairs, on the beach had died down, after my arrogant hair had fallen flat in my sweat, I replayed me telling you “You’re going to cum in multiples because I need it that way.”

You had turned and the back of you looked like a dune, my fingers walked the surface, high stepping my happy. My eyes moved left to the veil torn off, adrift at my feet, the heart a burst and slow leak coupled with the prayers of a thousand days waiting, a thousand mornings kneeling and a confession I could not keep. A kiss on your face and these words in your ear,

You are my equal in every singular way.

Partnered with a true living goddess.. you are amazing me.

I am in love with the balance and the weight of my failings are lessened through Christ and now lessened against your breasts.. I am confessing to you, how I lived with a regret but kept creeping into your profile.. wondering why, how…..

Looking for the connection, is it in my mind? how we think so identically.. and how could a person so beautiful…So beautiful, love an imperfect being like me, Then you spoke, I heard your voice and turned up my attention

One day I thought you blocked me completely, a ghost in my hand, your hairs left on my hoodie, I thought maybe I asked too many times, “what do you need?” I pushed against the dam until it burst, and you leaned in sweetly, and began with your son…

Then your anxiety, that you were hurt and lonely, Then I heard it said that you are unhappy, still I could feel that tiny, true muscle throb of a heart growing in independence.

I wanted to hold you. But I knew I could not

But we continued to talk, and the talking was hand holding, the talking was sand on our soles. It was the sun in our eyes and dark leafy greens in our yard. It was a beginning and then it was the alpha return to another beginning for us.

When you couldn’t stop the words and I mirrored them, when you couldn’t stop the words and I collected them searching your broken tea cup handled soul, reaching for that moment when you were racing toward it too.

Still the glass between us would not break, I still see the breath and the print of you. Pressed against that barrier. My love or my life to break it, my love or my life to break open the day, my love is on a couch, asleep on a wave, and a tremor so strong, that I cannot measure the shake nor stop the shift of the earth fixed emotion it slams into us, your slumber a tree falling with speed, your love a tree shading my outline.

And my love is you.. and I want to publish your name, in hardback and digital, a person far more complete, than she can even see.

This is that confession, the confessed and the truth of us. The singular root of us, the fleshy meat of the fruit of us, the gift of us and the active gratitude filled hymn of us. It is the always and the pristine decaying legacy of us.

The fire has reached the treeline in the distance and the birds would not scatter at the mere insistence of rain, or thunder. You are standing at the patio door looking off into that fire. I am considering the years and the months that make them, with you as a gift, with you as a navigator, with you, you I love, finally awake.

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