A Thought on Same-Sex Relationships

A 'tradition', like marriage, brings a well-structured past into the present, it connects to an otherwise shapeless present a past structured by formulations of truth:  Memory and ritual; ritual as remembrance, ritually enacted, births tradition into an ordered act of translating memory; love in relation is a reciprocated act of translating memory, freely chosen, enacted, and repeated often, often, and ever more often, perforce, like perceiving the time in a year diminish relative to age, it occupies less and less, and less awareness; when reciprocated, an act of translating memory learns and knows only this one How: to naturalize next to nearby ken, if not blood, then breath; that act of breathing begins to seem only ever as old as it is new, and in time ever newly, reflexively reciprocating an act of translating memory--such an act is only ever creative, a processural act, exercised to fitness daily when I and an other 'I' freely choose to enact and rinse and repeat often through time a choice that I for myself and an other 'I for myself and' remember increasingly every contour of his body, every mole and birth mark, and his may-as-well-be congenital tattoo, and I remember this my left big toe's repeated crossing the no-hair | hair boundary, where his ankle meets his leg, with little more documentation to account for this its small right than the very experiences of his happiest smile--still shining--and his crying and wiping his eyes, and his every meaningless sound: his moaning from those piercing, despairing eyes, and now our eyes crying for snuggles longer, closer, and as so close as in minutes again he moans and he moans for minutes after his cumming, and soon soon after tangling and disappearing, fixing upright that small tuft of hair on his tummy after my cumming inside of him, and finally I remember the words he wished the the trembling of his lip would not fail.