Last night sipped the sunset, my hand in her hair.
We are our own saviours as we start,
Both our hearts beating life into each other.
Wondering aloud, will the years treat us well?
As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs, then she comes,
Spilling crumbs on the bed, and I shake my head.
And it's only the giving that makes you what you are.