dear love.

ours was a twice-in-a-lifetime kind of love–
a wish come true
even before the flight of the shooting star
that would claim it through a child’s eyes
and it was ours for the taking
both in unadulterated innocence
and the wisdom of hindsight
past, present, and foreseeable future
—here we go again
the kind of passion that makes the heavens blush
and mountains tremble beneath the gravity
of shadows diminished
by the brilliance of rebirth
as if the universe granted an echo to fate
long enough to bring us back an encore

{[you] asked if it’s too soon, or just long overdue…
I say, at last, we’re precisely on time.}