The Second Night

 It was the second night I told you
not in a rush, not in a storm.
The house was full, the lights were low,
your skin was tired, your hands were warm.

I didn’t say it with a tremble,
no heartbeat wild, no grand reveal
just reached for yours beneath the blanket,
and placed it where new life would feel.

The room was small, the world was distant,

your breath slowed down, then stayed a while.
You didn’t speak, but in the silence,
your lips grew soft, your eyes a smile.

Outside, the kitchen clinked with dishes,
a cousin’s laugh, a rustling sheet
but in our space, time paused to listen
as two heartbeats began to meet.

You pulled me close, I felt you trembling

not with fear, but something wide.

The kind of love that has no questions,

just space enough to let you cry.

And though the house held many voices,

and family passed us like the wind,

in that small bed, you held a future

you hadn’t known you’d find within.