You are a small woman, barely five foot nought.
I am a six foot man who weighs two forty.
You weigh one hundred eight?  Or what?
Yet if you are not safe and happy
I cannot stand.
 I cannot eat or drink,
I absolutely cannot think.
It is you who is Atlas
That bears the world upon your shoulders
Who remembers where the money goes
And reminds me when to wear my boots,
Whose frail frame encloses spirit
That is dense as neutron stars
While mine is made of air.
Your body keeps your soul from sinking through the earth
While mine stops the soul from floating up into the clouds.
I am tethered to your centre, dark and deep
That pulls me into this world, unasleep.
This is the nature of your love
And the gift you give.
Without it, I cannot breathe, I cannot live.