The Secret

Her small soft fingers caress his neck,
And he so tall,
Standing still, silent,
Unable to speak, yet wanting her so,
Her head buried in the pillow of his chest and shoulder,
With intention,
Tenderly as his mind allows his fingers to be gentle,
He cradles her head,
Treasure troves each strand of hair is felt, caressed,
Slight sobs with whispered word,
She speaks yet barely heard,
“You’ll want children, I know,”
“You are that kind man,”
He holds her closer,
Letting her sense strength in his embrace,
A future unknown,
Barren possibility,
His watery eyes release a tear,
For her, the woman he loves,
For her belief in a child yet unconceived,
For one who may never be,
He withdraws, stepping away,
Only to free his hands and hold her face,
Fears and secrets exposed,
Submitting,
Expectant and unknowing,
A future wrapped within a moment,
She gazes deep into his eyes,
Three words, two people, one love,
I want you,
I want you,
I want you.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 6, 2011