grace in her fingers
her thoughts percussing
from keyboard to screen
grace in her colors
riotous pink hair
and splotches of alabaster
adorning her limbs
grace in the moment
when the teapot drags with exhaustion
but she lifts it anyway
to pour me a cup
grace in her shoulders
which will soften beneath my lips
when the work of the day is finished
it is then I will whisper a love song
to remind her once again of my reverence
for the woman whose every movement
lays grace upon my hearth
