Blistered Mysteries

It was merely a moment,
monumental in what it meant,
momentous in its break with
the monotony of her blistered mysteries.

No longer your history versus our present.
No longer his poetry versus my content.
No longer new romances versus second chances.
No more need to decipher glances or fear the advances,
from his hands into our plans,
that cull, instigate,
dull, disintegrate,
your morale integrity
for all we be.

For a moment, no more
me wondering if she meant assured.
when she insured our love
as she wanders on adventures.

Why no insurance fee on your assurance
of the honesty of our romance?
Why assure me you like me the best,
turn this into a contest,
when we know you've said it to the rest?
What were you sure of?
Isn't the whole fact
that we can't preach about each intact shore
as long as time can breach the barriers,
from sands and sparks to hands and hearts?

Love needs no insurance,
no fee for the transferance
of enough of you into me
to complete me.

Honestly, for a moment there was
no more competing,
no more past repeating.

At last
for a moment,
for what it meant,
you could reach me,
and I could teach you.

It wasn't you and me and all the other people.
It was us and them
then just us and him.

Then, for a moment-
justice, just us.
No versus,
just verses of us.