What it is like to be confused about being madly in love with someone you know so, so well

children of light,
two birds of many feathers 

we fly together
perpetually caught swinging pendulum-time between the points.
between passion and practicality
between devotion and dedication
between living and existing 
and between love and rationality.

wild nights inside
the ancient books that explain adventures recent
assembled theories, jumbled cross words:
intentions and that which is 
justiciable
never quite in tandem.

And one, 
starved for some semblance of love long desired:
peach fuzz and the flesh 
so soft and sturdy
a swim to the finish,-- what finish?--and
she, hungry for the win,
forgets the important parts.

Or she knows them
all by heart.

Everything we ever wanted
is here.