When, in the middle of the night,
I'm shivery, I snug up tight
to all his horizontal height.
I love this man.
At breakfast, as the day peeks in
on tousled hair and stubbled chin,
he flashes me a crooked grin.
This peaceful man.
While exiting the grocery store,
I see him parked right by the door,
and I'm the one he's waiting for.
This patient man.
His eyes are closed, his breathing slow.
He's out there hunting buffalo
on open ranges long ago.
This manly man.
When I am cross and full of me,
he calls me back to harmony.
Our joy is in simplicity.
This man, my man.
© Mary Boren, 2009
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