You had me at the capital
letter, seven words ago
back at the big
bang of the sentence.
E.g. When we had a discussion of sea
lettuce habitat that you began
with engines,  

with those fiber
optic dangles of blonde. Sun
glasses black, circumference
of satellite dishes,  

an ocean seizing
with the romance. Shapely, conversations
curvaceous, impossible to capture
in mirror or telescope, no matter
how far back the cinematographer’s
standing,     

You have centered me, surrounded
in the open quotation arms filled
with cantankerous panache,  

What fortune it is to suck
moments of gas
on this planet
beside you.