transitions / marriage / kisses

I use to love the structured life: the healthy closet, the happy living room, the robust plants giggling on my patio, the neat yogurt, nut, and Clementine breakfast of choice, the resplendent relationship with my yoga mat and my running sneakers. The up 5 a.m., in bed by 10 p.m. philosophy of a healthy lifestyle. (Up with the birds, in bed before the bewitching hour the vampires arrive) Somewhere along the way though, out of the pitfalls of a life destined with epic failures, I met a wonderful man who refuses to think in such tight increments or my substandarized measures.

He sets his alarm clock at 6:03 a.m., or 8:57, or 9:14, because 'life does not need to unfold on the dot." he has gently explained to me the practical matter of eating an Oreo (do I dare?). The need for keeping the top down on the convertible, then turning the heat on because it is cold (go figure). I would like to think that I excel in transition, if that is, in fact, the sort of experience one can master. After years of conflict and post - conflict, the transition of possibly staying in one (secure) (exceedingly comfortable) place for the next years of my life, eating an Oreo here and there is absolutely intoxicating.

I am turning into a Nesting Monster, slowly building it, (my second marriage, my new life). I am no longer allergic to this newest transition, as I humor myself, assembling life block by block by the tick of the clock on the wall. Last night I asked my husband if he thought the merging of our two lives would become cluttered. He replied, " Let me be perfectly clear, it will not. The merger has already become imposingly permanent, imposingly wonderful, the day you unpacked your suitcase, and I then shared with you my empty drawers."

How can one not love a man who says things like that? 

I now plan to indulge more, not restrain myself sooner. Break every rule, transgress very line, simply roll over in bed, and find a place where the sheets are still cool.

Perspiration trickles down between my breasts, we lay together, not touching, but there is an affinity. The feel of his breath on my naked neck, sweet, teasing, familiar and unfamiliar in the same moment. I reach for his hand, and twist the wedding band on his finger; he has lead me from a place of sameness to a place of newness and wonderment. When I kiss him, it is with a question. When he kisses me back, it is always with an answer. Kisses are innocent. They contain no motives, no history. They simply are. Kissing is our game. It is a call and an answer. It is the conjoined enjoyment of the relationship we now share.