I Lied

I lied in those poems I wrote  before where I said

 I couldn’t love you any more than I did already.

Back then I had no reason to think that my love,  which was already burning intensely, could burn any brighter.

Instead,  I was depending on  the passage of time —

 together with the millions of unexpected events that can come between lovers’  promises and change even the laws of time  —

That might darken a lover’s sacred beauty,  take the edge off  a lover’s keenest intentions, and force the strongest minds to adapt to changing circumstances.

Why didn’t I say back then,  when I was worried about time’s destructive power,

“I love you best in the  now” ?

I was so certain of my feelings  despite the uncertainty of our lives, and I was ready to say my present happiness was complete,  though I had doubts about everything to come.

Love

Love Itself is a childlike thing of wonder:  Cupid, the god of love, is always depicted as a Baby Boy
If Love  itself is a baby,  wouldn’t it have been natural for me to have said

that my love  for you  was fully  grown, though it keeps growing?