I am continually amazed
at the way you hold me,
so easily, unfazed,
when it seems that my head
has just exploded from dischord,
that my body has finally crumpled
into a soggy, crying mess.
Still you stand there, unjudging,
gentling picking up each tattered piece
and cradling it, gently, lovingly,
as though it is the sweetest piece of work
that you have ever seen.
You kiss each piece,
and with warmth breath gently dry it,
then glue the pieces back together,
with a lover's heart, a craftsman's hands:
"There, all better, darling.
See, no more mess.
I love you equally, no matter what,
but now, even easier, you can rest."