I sometimes feel I have met you twice

The you that laughs and points, confides

and stands so far it sometimes seems

you are not around, that same

mouth I've seen grow, kiss other women,

hang over toilet seats, give advice, eat, drink, a thousand times

The reality of relationship: you,

over five long years of observation,

The one I can't quite capture

I'm far more intimate with a stranger: a

shade of you, one whose eyes seek me

out, with whom I share moment(ous)

silent minutes

Uncomfortable, unspeaking, familiarity: (my)

force of tender delicacy

(and maybe You feel that there are two I's for your two you's

and it doesn't bother you that they Just Don't

Match)