He takes my hand so lovingly,
curling his fingers around mine,
as if t’were a treasure of great
price, and I hold his in mine
while memories of that first
fragile touch of nervousness.
Love can be worn thin like ice,
a place that snaps easily and
falling far through the fracture
often floundering and failing,
bitterly, unforgiving broken to
never surface in that place again.
Love can grow and be a place
of strength, and yet, struggles
strain. But, shared as – we work
this out together -can sprout
wonderlands of sweet moments,
forgiveness and grace grow love.
This is his love.