and he being a man I met when still a goldenrod child

obfuscated a line with these ways of flippant and despondent excitement I cherished

and he being a man tarnished and precious

yet raw

was made to feel precious by my unwavering Fahrenheit

yet independent from that youth

and I being alright with it

drove away from that man to prove I remained sorry

not for my 3-feet-deep-already-dug holes in the pavement

but for being that child that the man could not be fixed by

for not being able to translate my harness

or complete lack of a harness

on fearlessness

for the adult in him so full of fear

for being 5/9 and 32 degrees off of him

and he being power and light with shadows cast by a faithful girl gone

and I was not her

and I was an abundance after his winter

and he knowing and unconcerned with the death of the seed to stem to blossom

and concerned with the acceleration (but not execration)

of seasons until the snow would fall again

and if not that he at least

being concerned with the temporary nature of that golden rod

as the absence of the man burned harsher than the presence of another

I being on an adventure

and he on a quest

I who could be found in them

and he who was only him

and that being that