Hours, just short of half a day,
More than ten and less than twelve,
The back half to convenient-shopping’s Seven.
Donuts, just short of dozen,
A tenth of one hundred ten,
A rogue line of iambic pentameter.
Inches, just short of a foot,
Fingers, just short of two-hands,
Centimeter more than a decimeter.
I more than X and X more than merely I.
You, more than I’d ever imagined I’d need.
You, more than I ever deserved to receive.
You, rounding out the completest milestone yet.
These years together so far:
Four thousand and eighteen days,
The first, the best, until the next eleven.