A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

My second self, if there is but one thing I know with certainty
it is the surety that my love for you is immortal. I see
the dangerous sparks thrown off by your beautiful brain
when it is overrun by fears and doubts and misty sadness;
those fictional story lines in which our bond is broken,
those whispered lies that I could find something more,
something better. Permit them not to start little fires. 
I feel the little sting of momentary burns as they land;
of course I do, your brain is an extension of my own 
and I know the terrain; jagged rocks perhaps, 
but ones I can navigate by feel alone, in any darkness.
I’ll meet you there, in the pitch black, in the silence,
my hand slipping gently into yours: warmth, comfort, safety
for us both. Physical ties can be severed, the strongest hands
eventually lose their grip, but soul mates are of a single essence
and no earthly force (nor even I believe one that is other worldly)
can tear a single soul in two. This ocean may change;
one day reflecting azure skies; one day grey and dreary;
temperature changes with the weather, small volumes
collected into bottles and poured out elsewhere, waves
crashing on different shores, but the immensity of the sea
remains.  I wonder how many life times it would take you
to remove each drop, such that the seabed is parched,
and yet I can assure you, my friendship would outlast even that.