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. 


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