this is 40.

it’s been said that there are no accidents.

with a thick trip of her tongue, our friend lisa, sauced or sober[?], swapped our one word moniker, “kevinandhen”, for the serendipitous “Heaven and Ken”.

the switch was only as startling as that proverbial spilt glass of milk, dripping down the sides of a kitchen table, pooling; white tears lapped, with quick, eager strokes, by a kitty’s pimply tongue.

initially choppy, the nickname soon flowed fluently, like a River of Milk of Honey.

for although you look like one, it was clear that i was playing the part of the Ken doll.

and you are Heaven.

heaven as you soar through me, hot, on dragon’s breath, rushing with the heat of drugs, the burn of alcohol, the flush of sinking into sugary, sultry moist, licking my lips free of icing burn.

you are my sweet tooth, my cavity deep.

heaven is us, cocooning away from a wintery swarm descending with biblical force; blinding white coughs from a chokehold of arctic air, tenting together in a motel by the freeway. putting down my subway sandwich, turning off the 876^th Frasier rerun and tucking your form deeper under a threadbare blanket as you sleep…

…and smile.

find heaven in the gumball machine of our marriage, popcorning with declarations circus loud and colors fading back from midnight black to midway bright. our appetite for love is not yet sated. we’re still chewing the fat, still chomping at the bit.

an appetite for devotion.

she is no longer entangled in the scratchy, knotted yarn, you’d patiently unravel night after night, hunched, squinting into the mess of threads. this kitty is full-grown. she’s coughed up her last furball, had the elective declawing procedure and loyally licked all the spilt milk off the floor.

this black cat dreams of curling in your lap, licking herself clean and offering up her remaining lives.

[there’s definitely only about 5 left on the table, but who’s counting…?]

today, my husband, i offer you the heaven you always gave.

a soft-pillowed sanctuary; a feathery foundation of love and strength that never buckled, never dared give way.

let’s call it even, ok?

the next 20 years are yours.

soar on deep, easy breaths. let me be the wind as you ascend on arias of love and light...

[the channel is yours to change. not an angsty rock star in sight.]

sweetheart.

you are the air that i breathe, the helium in my heart,

and the reason i pee…

happy birthday.