He Sleeps On The Porch Swing Poem by Frankie Renae

It seems like he's got nothing
too much going on in his life
right now.
He sleeps on the porch swing,
sits there thinking,
watching the lives of children in the street.
And when he speaks,
it's quiet but sure,
like he doesn't need emphasis
to prove confidence, right, or truth.
And I swear if I can love him and stay with him
forever,
I will.
When he looks at me
and we smile,
I think of all the things he is
that hold to me
such a respect
and how they can mesh
beneath the everyday.
He has this incredible faith
and incredible strength and peace.
He is nothing short of beautiful,
both places.
And our bodies fit together
like a stained glass replica
of something alive,
in symbolic notation of the bond we live.
There are days
I worry
if it's wrong
for me to want, spend, and love
the time we share
above all other sorts of time.
Then I crawl into his lap,
and as I stay loving being warm in his arms,
he tells me how he loves having me
in his arms, keeping him warm.
And I wonder
how I got so lucky to get him,
thank God in my prayers for him,
and know I can never leave this.
I realize
I would give up everything
if he ever asked.