I think about the way

I think about the way he grins.

The morning light cuts through,

not nearly as bright as him. 

I never saw someone so happy

to simply greet the day. 

He laugh, pointing out

it's not the day he's greeting. 

But my heart can never easily accept

the I could bring someone happiness.

My mother, of course. 

My sisters, sure. 

Predestined love given by birth. 

Him, however, I felt his heart shift.

Turning to face whereever I lay.

His pulse speaking a language of comfort

that calms my own.

Hands that reach, find purchase,

but appreciate what is there. 

Arms that hold, without constriction. 

Respect and admiration that 

needn't be fought for.

He gives this freely, expecting nothing.

I think about the way he grins, 

and can't help smiling myself. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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