of my heart's desire.

He can barely accept the small gestures

0f my love.

His trust, damaged,

beyond repair?

He holds back

filling his life with his mission,

often eclipsing intimacy between us.

His armor is up.

Is it what he needs now?

How I long to take him to my breast.

How I long to let down my milk,

replenishing him,

completing me.

He, the wounded warrior,

is not able to surrender.

His healing is as close as I am

would he only allow it in.

I dream

and hold the vision of him

cradled at my breast

in peace.

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