Nineteen Years

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

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