Together. The hands, the thoughts, the sex. Bound and in welcome, receiving, faith followed and encouraged. In the way of speaking, it’s we, us, them, they. Not you or I, but always in sum; the two walking with eyes straight and hope in bloom lining the path to tomorrow. And the additions, the kitchen cabinets, the backsplashes, repaired tubs, extra closet space. Spare rooms, koi ponds, in-law apartments. Cars, jobs, income. And us swells, from two to three or four or seven or more; each intimacy stretched into lifelong devotion when seed takes hold, pain rips and we increase. In size. In responsibility. In faith, love and belief even as life is littered by car seats and bottles, Diaper Genies and breast pumps. And life suddenly loses poetry, the cleverness of phrase and the light of revelation plucked from wherever it sat on high and placed down, away, into those obscure, dusty places where old photos, birthday cards and romance live. Because there’s no time allotted in these days for anything but the expansion of us; the impressive accrual of we. And the nights shorten, along with tempers and patience. And the days lengthen, sweating the small stuff like each decision is another cinderblock at rest on shoulders starting to show wear and weight, slumping, aspect drawn and bodies slow. Minds slower, key lusts dissipating in favor of rest, and so they dream again, together at night, but pulled apart by each waking hour crowded with demands for attention until even in slumber, they walk separate shores, still hoping to swim in their cooling ardor and taste the salt of their passion. Yet low tide draws them shallow, their intentions and yearning stranded like spent grunion with lost instinct. We know where we should be, both think, but maintaining us is the chore of each separately; and errands invade, the hostile reality of obligation and growth. They flounder on the beach of their ocean, gasping, grasping. Breathe, they tell each other. I am here. We are together. (at Vow of Tuesday)