We dance more together than I do on my own, now. Your kisses are wet and we find magic in
unexpected places, together and alone. The baby sheep run from us and sometimes so do our
friends. I crave privacy but have never been good at hiding my feelings. The world can see there
has been an explosion and I let them.

You showed me your house and let me in to your home. I listen to the same music I did before,
but I occasionally listen to yours too. There are even some songs I would call ours. I’m grateful
you read my poems and listen to me talk about something or other for lengths of time you don’t
measure. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be seen through your eyes and to see you, at all. I
find ecstasy most every day, in bite sized doses.

Tonight, you’re making jam and I’ve stopped worrying about doing everything right. It’s
unfashionable to claim that you have made me better, but you have. You ask me if I want go to
bed and I do. This batch didn’t work out the way you hoped, but I think we have it in us to try
again. I think I’ll always dance with your hand in mine. I’ll try to remember to savor you like
you won’t always be within a few paces, but to the extent that I can plan anything, I plan to sit at
the kitchen table with you nearby for a long time.