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.