The Middle Mix

Collections, however symbolic,
trinkets, trappings, no true measure
of what can be lost or gained in love,
the real truth revealed, lying between,
in a space that defies all measure.

Fluff, these shared blankets,
unmade beds, a borrowed shirt,
still held warm, percolating musk,
sweet release, the murmurs and kisses
of a night spent reaching out, then in. 

It is not this accummulation of things,
but the space between, held dear,
what lies truly in the middle, the mix,
bearing weight, beyond material worth,
wide open, dared into being ... shared.