My partner is my husband. My best friend. The man I love.

Healthy for his whole life, his awareness changed after he met me, the woman in gloves.

He has been by my side through these years as I rise and I fall.

Rheumatoid arthritis, heart condition, infertility; arms close around me as I bawl.

He holds my hands while I wear gloves or bare and chilled to the bone.

He tells silly jokes and gets me to laugh when all I feel like doing is groan.

If I’m too tired to rise, he’s there to help me up, morning or night.

Sweet and kind enough even to help with the little things, like cracking open my Sprite.

He knows how to calm and soothe me, a most stubborn and cranky beast.

When I feel defeated, he hits me with his best shtick until my grumpy demons release.

Laughing together, he will pull me into an embrace, holding me tight and close.

He’ll take my hand to waltz around our living room, as our doggie hops all over our toes.

His smart, kind, and funny heart captured my own from ticking forever all alone.

He is my life, my love, my treasure, my true home.