A simple truth.

She sleeps at my side
her breath caresses my
face.

Our years of laughter -
mini disasters –
the little tragedies -
have left the slightest
lines on her face,
at the edges of her eyes,
around her lips.

I search her calm face,
her eyes move in morning
dreams, her chest
rises and falls – rises and falls.

“You don’t even know
me” -

she had said last night –

“you don’t even know
…me”

words that lacerate
and break -
waves on shores of
anxiety.

For all our time,
all our seasons,
it’s a simple truth.