Friends whispered we still act like newlyweds;
"We're not even married," I might have said.
Instead, I say, "3 years," my left hand hid,
Who cares what we've not done?
I care what we did.
3 years isn't long, but it's ne'er seemed so short
As this time, flying by, since we started to court.
And yet, are we courting? I couldn't care less
Whether this leads to a church, a ring,
A silken white dress.
Like a Buddhist reborn, I live in the now,
After long lonely decades of wondering how.
Your taste fills my mouth, your touch fills my heart,
I know we're not finished,
This close to the start.
And if my ring finger's bare, my face is adorned,
With my mischievous smile, once so careworn,
And I don't need a vow, for making you mine,
You were mine ere I saw you,
As I, I am thine.