We have invented a crude geometry
to cover our nakedness,
where arcs of arms enclose
sacred, safe spaces of trust -
yet we are neither of us good at arithmetic.

We carve fragile niches
for our momentary lapses of reason,
holding breaths and breezes from wary eyes and lips.
You tether me gently to the earth and
I teach you to fear not to dream.

We build rickety bridges
across the disparate reaches of our memories
weighing the narcotic of comfort
and the thrill of the unknown -
But that which is measured does not soothe.

We segment hours of anonymity
with stolen moments that roll back clocks and miles,
drying whiskey tears,
smoothing the creases and
lightening jaundiced, darkened snapshots.

We have not yet risen above
the tyranny of numbers;
in moments of doubt you struggle to see
a difference of age is not always
a difference of understanding.

I know, as you cannot yet
of the leaps of faith
that sway the pendulum
that add more sand to the glass
and stretch happiness to the horizon.