"The Two-Year Mark"

At two years, 
   I can hear her silently slide into the bed,
   her skin causing the sheets to yawn
   like a coral reef that is sublimely warm 
   and far too naive.

At two years,
   she knows what colors cause my body to turn
   Linear Time into Spiritual Time,
   what shapes cause me to hear ancient music, 
   and the folly of getting too close to a fancy lighting store.

At two years, 
   she knows what truly inspires me,
   what is a distraction,
   what is premature,   
   what is worth planning for,
   and what is a False God.

At two years,
   we laugh harder and longer
   at what used to annoy,
   and conspire to harness the latent 
   unforeseen humor
   of any situation.  

At two years,
   we can sense which activities and challenges
   are best done alone
   and which are ripe for re-invention, 
   when artistic collaboration is mostly likely to flourish,
   and when to let cheerleading be its own
   Art.

At two years, 
   we have exchanged keys, 
   beyond our joint domicile, 
   to our own private Little Shop of Horrors,
   complete with generational rooms, 
   because we now know how to
   bribe the security guard . . .                 

 

March 2022

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©2022, Michael Smolens