This woman, resting her head here upon my chest,
Could lie anywhere and with anyone, but chose to lay here between my breasts.
At times, I ask her why, and her answer stays the same.
It’s simple, she says, you have earned my trust, so my heart is yours to claim.
I ask if this is love or just a common thing—like a stroke of lust or a simple fling.
She says love asks only for what it needs—honest words and faithful deeds. From you, I am given each, and forever I will be within your reach.
So this is where this woman rests, her head here upon my chest.
She could lie anywhere and with anyone, but chose to lay here forever between my breasts.
A.M. McKnight (July 2020)