You weave into my dreams and touch me during the night before I sleep, sending me off with a sigh, the corners of my heart drawn to a huddle by the yearning, that yearning, those nimble lips and serene, glacial eyes inspire. I think of how men used to court--perhaps still do somewhere-- women; how women seem to swoon at the confusion of pursuit, succumbing only in a state of furtively willful delirium, delighting in it, able to withdraw again and resist to swoon anew. And I think of how with you, a spontaneous mutuality erupted between us, with neither losing a foot, only always racing towards the other, gaining miles in each lope.
Then I think of my drunken behavior and realize with a stab of harrowing sorrow that it wasn't always like that; that too often--once would have done--I sullied our orchestra with a foul, misplaced note, a ditzy sheep's bleat in the middle of a violin concerto. Pause. Pause. Resume...
...in your pristine, loving generosity, your altruistic and perfectly defined vision and actuation of Love, you wish me to feel no regret, to have no remorse; yet I do; and as timely a reminder as time requires I will if only to check the impulses any frailty of will or of character might summon, leading me into that hateful pattern of drinking as predictable and rhythmic as pistons firing in an engine.
My Brandi, crumple when you must, dissolve into shivering skin, slung clothes, eyes looking through a snowglobe melted, seeing nothing. I'll walk with you.
And I have through and with you been building the levy which no human moment of yours can dent, slacken my resolve. It only fortifies me, sharpens my purpose. The strength you've given me in steady streams filled a once-dry lakebed, and it is yours, too. Swing from a tire tied to a tree limb, and whoop, and let go, and splash in it. You won't drown; I won't let you, even if I can't swim.
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