It starts with a kiss.
No, sooner than this.
Maybe with the breath on your neck,
or the smile that takes you back;
back to the day you met:
the day it truly began—
the day you fell upon
--fell here.
But, always here
with your arms like vines
growing around my collarbones,
making a home within the nest of my heart—
becoming a tree;
sitting in a tree—the tree that connected us all along. So, maybe,
maybe it was the kiss:
the kiss that made me remember all of this.