it's in the appreciation of a fantastic tater tot
and a shared laugh after a missed rebound in trash can basketball.

it's in risk and fear and a crazy heart
in late night car rides and "I'm not letting go"

it's at Waffle House at 6AM on a Sunday
in the sheepish grins and sweetly sticky countertop.

it's in the raise of an eyebrow, a wink, a nod
in attention to detail. listening. feeling.

it's in perfect confessions (if shared)
and in a drive thru drink (but only if it tastes right)

it's in the smallest of gestures that mean "I'm sorry"
and the nod that says "you are forgiven"

it's in a car (blue, not black) with a broken console
and in the joyous laughter over squeaky leather seats.

it's in feeling different and wild and passionate
but in soft affection and the summer breeze.

it's in August, in between my toes like sand
natural, messy, persistent
but wonderful all the same.

he holds it for me.