No tallies. No countdowns.

How many bus rides,
how many spaghetti meals,
how many ice creams will I still have
with you?

How many more chances can I play
with the mole on your left hand?
How many times I can pinch
your fluffy belly and
poke your love handles
that I've ever loved to cuddle with?

How many more instances can I
hug you from behind,
or fiddle with your soft hair
or pull it -- just because?

How many more times will I go home
with your scent sticking onto my hands,
arms, and shirt,
or even to my water jug
which I've always wondered how you do so?

How many more mornings
will I wake up to your voice,
or laugh with you over Winnie and Piglet,
Tom and Jerry, Barney and Tweety,
and other innocent cartoons,
or simply adore Sulley and Mike
and wrap them around our arms
-- for real?

How many more chances
can we sing together
and blurt our hearts out to songs
that speak of our joy,
"Now that I have you?"

How many more times will we sit
side by side heeding to silence,
or talk over the phone
amid quietude at night
or in the morning?

How many more phone calls, messages,
e-mails, tweets, sweet words,
surprises, caresses, clingwraps,
tight embraces, gentle cuddles,
and kisses?

I feel like we're on a race with time
where I'd rather choose to lose
and come last at the finish line.
Looks as if we're trying to mangle
with the world where each day,
week, and month is like
a ticking time bomb
that can go off anytime
before our own eyes.