She found herself paralyzed
Sick with grief
And yet not sick at all,
All of it
None of it
Too much
Too little,
And so when he came to her
She was restless,
Her body tense, her mind aching,
Startled by those warm hands,
His warm hands
Sliding round her waist.

"I'm here," he said,
"Right here. Yours."
She held her breath
But deep inside, she knew—
He would free her lungs
When he pulled her closer,
Pressed his lips to hers
Tongue seeking, roaming, finding,
Reminding her of what was,
What could be,
What they were.
"I love you, you know," he said,
And when she said, "I do,"
The words were a whisper into
The wetness of his mouth,
A gasp against the clutch of his body.

The heat fired in her,
Finally,
Again,
As he peeled back the sides of her shirt
Kissed the edge of her jaw,
Trailed damp lips along her neck
And breathed her in,
Before he met her eyes.
"So much," he said. "And I want you now.
Come back to me."
His hands pulled away her shirt
Drifted over her breasts
Circling nipples that waxed, waned
Stood for him,
Before he drew his fingers to her waist
And carefully unfastened her jeans.

At this she sighed—
It was him, her love.
There was
No paralysis,
No grief;
He was the one who knew
How to rescue her time and again.
And when he dropped to his knees
Burying his mouth against the heat
That rose between her thighs—
She tilted back her head,
And moaned it all away

For good.