You hold my breath still,
a gasp of inspiration,
ensnaring me, as ever,
in its simple grace.
You glance and catch my eyes—
that favoured look has passed
a thousand times or more,
meaning held in trust.
You speak, and in your voice
I hear the sound of children,
laughter, gentle whispers,
memories of tears.
I hold your hand in mine,
set in well-worn grooves
of soft anticipation,
love folded in.
– MWP 2013
Michael William Pahl 