Godsend

He looks at her like a godsend,
Believes her name rhymes with miracle.
“That moment in Times Square,
I knew I’d never lose that feeling about you.”
When her face lit up with the flare of a million neon signs,
Beckoning them, selling those dreams dreams dreams.
Her hand in a glove (red polish just starting to chip), and the glove in his hand.

He looks at her like a promise he can’t wait to keep,
Knows her name like a prayer.
Even though she bites her nails to the bone,
Believes in Christmas more than she believes in herself,
Cries over stepping on ladybugs and lost teddy bears,
and her first response to “let’s travel the world,” is
“Isn’t that expensive?”

But he looks at her like a wish coming true,
And her name in his mouth sounds like home.
He remembers her skin under his hands,
And how she looks when she sleeps,
And how much he needs her there today, tomorrow, every day.
The winter is setting in again,
And their ebbing whispers span across the ocean.