When time it comes for us
to read our promises
in front of witnesses,
when we profess our love
with our monograms
to the tune of our march,
the lights on our faces,
though there’d be no clergy,
no fabric or metal bonds,
your hand in mine
will be the sacred cord,
whispering gratitudes to the stars
and the goddesses of old.
A rain of silver and white
on our heads
wrapped in the warmth
and vibrance
of every touch afore, hereon.
To behold the fondest to my heart
each step to the hours.
To be near, around, beside, and behind,
wherever you need me
at any given moment you allow.
I cast my wishes to the timekeepers
who favored our existence
in the same timelines,
every one of which, I am bound
to find you.
13 July 2025
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