known by rote

This moment can never be like
the first time we had it surrounded.
We looked, saw, sensed the cusp and dove
into it vwoosh! Suspended immersed,
astounded confounded. We still don't
know what we found, but we found it.
Everything rang and shone and sounded
and felt all through, like bells
and lights and drums pounding bones.
There was everything to know
and nothing to trust,
And you
Were in command, and so
was us. And I just
was overwhelmed by myself.
And you were as well,
as everything cut both ways
and we each ended up with
the greatest part. Which
we easily each could tell. Which
we proceeded to share and share
alike. But this moment can never swell
in performance, in execution, the way it did
when we were writing it
in ink of separate selves in union.
In a deadly serious kidding
of character arcs, we improvised
chapter and verse of writ. Oh,
maybe

Now and then,
in discovering some gleam,
some angle we'd glossed and teased
but not out, passed by in abandon
then, and now found out in surprise
- some such kernels and fruits remain
to be found. Explored and devoured
expanding now, but still there has come
this growing doubt: the greatest part
of this moment is figured out. We can only
take it out, put it through its paces
and make them run, full knowing
what it can do. Which if
we could be serious about
one moment, is quite some fun
and no reason to pout.