There's never been a start or conclusion,
only a lock waiting for a key,
whether buried beneath earth as hard as frozen clay,
or as unknown shapes spiraling just out of reach.

You are already as familiar as the cells 
coursing through the rivers inside me
that cannot end until we truly begin,
until we chart the specific turnings.

A pulse beating softly against mine,
morning's first hints of sunlight
cutting through the blinds,
one layered glow after another along your body.

I can mark the passages here,
the seconds, minutes, and hours,
seasons that warm our blood 
and months that freeze this quiet valley.

There's never been a start or conclusion,
only a lock whispering to a key from afar,
to guide me through the levers and latches,
finesse teeth through every sensitive layer.

Even before this perfect turning,
you were already as familiar as the cells 
merging as an ocean inside me,
the fathoms are endless because 
the only true beginning is meeting you

And realizing time is an unfolding sprawl,
pulses softly beating together,
the night's first hint of darkness 
blanketing over the town now,
one layered ghost after another leaving our bodies.

I can mark the passage here,
you're so familiar because I believe we have 
lived this already and the position of contained moments
throughout the years have never been important,
only the composition of love made with them.

There's never been a start or conclusion,
only the collection of locks and keys broken 
along the way until you and I remain.

I mark the new passage the very first time
you say my name and your voice crosses all seasons,
marks and claims every cell 
with how familiar you already are.