On Holding You

Now no more the judgement of issues. Gone
all forms of address. The abacus of time
is thrown away. Love is neither here
nor there. There is nothing between us. You
my partner, bone of being, now it is
nonsensical to be, and yet most wise.
This is the nub, and round it is our whole
series of situations, as the clock starts ticking,
good and bad come in to bat and bowl,
man and woman find themselves between us,
each can say “I love you”. But those words
though pleasant, are a substitute for being,
the all-or-nothing balance we were holding,
the marrying lives, and lying as though due north.