It’s 11:37, again.
Today, and on so many days,
when I glance at the clock.
I’m reminded of your first breath.
I, brought on by your light,
am introduced to all the goodness in me,
my best self.

Funny, how nothing of who I was
before you, seemed relevant.
Your perfect everything, cradled in my arms
staring at me as though I was your only thing.
And already I knew,
I would die for you.
Your eyes.
Your hands.
Your head in my hands.
Your heart outside my body.

And none of these feelings have changed.
Not one thing.
Not one thing in all the years.
All that is you, is me
I cannot separate from it.
It is love.
It is you, within me,
without me
growing old
moving away from birth
knowing eachother
a first child.


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