secret joys of getting to know you

It makes sense you'd
say that. It all fits,
somehow - mind you,
I know you well, now! 
This latest jut prong 
sprung out kabong
without warning or
seeming reason might 
put others in mind
of wan, pasty white
-coated sprinters with
butterfly nets
after you
- but to me?

It all slides in
snick-click fit! Legit

coherent
in a sense,

considering
the source, as 

one does, as 
one must

with you,
true,
I never could've
predicted THAT! 

Yet that very
unpredictability 
forms a jazz pattern
long since proven
unexpectable.
No,

it makes sense 

somehow.
Context! Is
key, as some
say - and in
you they find 
proof incarnate! A living 
human being whose no doing 
nor saying makes sense

without 
the context! Of what?
No: who. You,
specifically. 

It only makes sense 
when I look twice, OH. 

YOU. 

Yeah.
Well, I might have known!
Ha, I don't need
to go thumping
stone walls, feeling
up mortared joins
in the dark, longing
for the secret catch
that springs, cracking
open a concealed door
to a mystery passage when 

I've got a key like that!

Who needs doors?
Or ways of understanding 
furthering, leading on and in?
The more I've known you, the more
I've known there is no understanding
but experience, with you. Sometimes 

it can't be explained,

it just makes sense.  

And you do.