A Long Marriage

We were promised to each other

before I was born.

Perhaps I understood this

even in the cradle. I knew it 

when I was seven and,

in my infantile way, embraced you 

as one who had the right.

There were some who told me

I could not aspire so high.

By my teens they suggested

you were fickle, and would never

be a good provider – 

I would do better to treat this

as a mere casual flirtation.

But I knew it was a true betrothal,

a deep affair of the heart.

I knew that I was incapable

of ever forsaking you, no matter

what other loves might intervene.

As I knew that you, despite mysterious 

absences, would always return to me.

And so it has been. We've both

had other paramours, even other 

true loves. There are times, still,

we need our space apart – for play 

or solitude. We no longer consume

each other lustfully. We are old friends.

Yet we are all in all, faithful unto death.

Take my hand, Muse of Poetry.

Press your lips to my heart.

There are still some songs 

to sing to each other, 

some dances in each other's arms. 

How surely, now, we move together, 

closer than ever, inventing new steps.

For Poets United's Midweek Motif: Marriage