"I want to be there to help you face your fears and to help you overcome your failures. I want to give you the kind of love that’s not distorted and fabricated, but real, raw and honest. You’re not perfect, and neither am I. But, when we’re together I can believe that things will always fall into place."
Is it because his hands feel like home?
Is it because he smells like the summer
your grandfather passed?
Or the spring your first nephew arrived?
Is it because he has your father’s smile
before the recession, before the fire
before your mother left?
Is it because his eyes are flecked with
a familiar glint of playful,
a stroke of confident
a whimpering brave?
Is it because he holds you as steadily
as the house shakes on Christmas morning?
Is it because he kisses the reckless out of you
feeds you the warmth of the sky,
melts away the lonesome?