It is just a question of time before…

our cadence will meet as we walk fall into sync,

to pentameter, iambic (of course), before we

share the same scented tea from same pot (same kind)

before we our hands grace the same table

and our tapered finger-tips do touch ~

yours olive soft , rich as our land

reach for mine - porcelain clear, almost

see-through, marble-veined and we lick

of same silver spoon and pout (in reverse,

some, odd family habit, bowed-upper lip

just tipped over bottom, bee-stung and tender),

before our feet touch (tip-to-toe but

just barely )across the black iron beneath

the table and our eyes, same color,

same day, greyed matching greyed skies,

and so and hence… as we make light

conversation as shyness meets shyness

before the teapot is finished and all

barriers then broken & we collect ourselves

then again, on same pavement our cadence

then collected, we pick up where we

left off, walk in rhythm and rhythm,

knowing soon you will offer all you offer,

before I offer all I offer (which we know)

before a kiss is not simply just in the moment

before two breaths come as one (as ever)

and this time you do not leave but instead leave

me glistening and glowing and showing

you all that I have as two strong

hearts beat a tango that was made

for us two, as I call your sweet

name as the doves lift and they lift

as the rain taps on the tin as (as you,

nervously, point out,) As we repeat

the whole thing. Hit return.

Now do it again.