He loves me with an innocence
So far behind his thirty years
That it should be a sin
To call us blasphemous
As many have.
It's in the way he breathes as he sleeps;
He is easy and fluent in his being.
I am at a loss for words tonight,
Though I speak to him as he rests.
He is as still as a coma patient
Yet somehow a smile creeps across his lips.
These are the wonderful things to me.