Enneagram wise,
I’m a 4; he’s an 8.
We say we complete each other,
but we misspeak.
What we mean is that we’re
raw opposing forces
that come together and push apart,
come together again
to rub the edges off each other.

We rumble. Like dragons.
Like beasts with growls and roars
that shake the house.
With claws and small bites, we
draw blood—we meant it in
the moment but we didn’t mean it.
And we bandage each other up
in opposing force and partnership.

We limp on together until we’re well
enough to run.
Until we pull apart to brawl again
over mundane nothings and
internal everythings.

And it’s not perfect.
Because we are people.
But it exists. And it is good.
Most of the time.
We’ll take it.