I was yours from the moment we touched

in a life before the present:

images as tertiary as

the dreamer and his dream.

It was as though I had loved you many

times ago when our eyes first spoke

and you claimed me on the spot;

me, lost and yours, found.

I wonder on the former –

was it as Cleopatra and Marc Antony?

the way you worship me as queen, yet

commanding your own respects of an invisible army

ruling an empire of your life (and my bed) as great as Rome?

or was this something more treacherously endearing

as Samson and Delilah?

you with the strength of a thousand men

succumbing to the wiles of a femme fatale attracted to victory?

Maybe then Bonnie and Clyde

the Dallas starling, poet and photographer

running away with the man who merely got arrested for driving dirty?

a courtship spent cordially telling the law and society to kindly fuck off

while they kissed and killed all the rules on the books?

Or the genesis of flesh and desire itself,

sacrificing one more barrier to his heart, Adam,

for the creation of the one who yet would hold it unharmed, Eve?

Another thought then: perhaps

this tale runs a new course for the history books,

the kind of whirlwind rush of drama and mystery that

conjures itself when the world allows the

blending of two parallels

fallen into a path their own.

I know not past nor future

— I can hardly grasp the present.

Time immaculate becomes in your presence,

Unraveled and reunited,

All continuums align and suspend in tandem

to stare through the scope of one another.

Time travels in the time we vacation on one another’s kiss,

We could be everyone and no one,

simply all of nothing at once:

the universe is ours.