she finds peace in
the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way jeans slide onto his hips, how the coffee smells when it snows outside, the crackling of wood in the fire, the shape of his shadow across her face, and the expansive territory of love that she wears like a quilt around her shoulders, naked while she stands at the window and watching flakes fall.
she finds meaning in
spoiling her treasure, sharing little talks, laughter low and light, listening and not waiting, folding the corners of a letter to be carried far away, being an equal and cherished because of it
she finds life in
his delights and victories, her work and milestones, penning a soul or seven, singing the praises of the gods of the seas, cradling her secrets most precious in the crook of her chest and the upturn of her mouth.
I think I need to do a series again. Whoops. Poetry book for next year, perhaps?