A Writer and Her Non-Writer Lover

I read you my poem
At my wooden desk
You asked what it meant
You didn't understand

You never get it
You never can see
Or sense what any
Of my words are saying

I blank a little
Get a little hopeless
That you have no idea
What's in my heart

I stop and wonder
What I am doing
If anything at all
Is right

Baby, you whisper
In that soft, loving voice
Drawing all of me out
To catch it in my ear

Then you lift me up
Out of the chair
And place me gently
On our gray comforter

Soft, cold blanket around me
Soft, warm you above me
Slowly leaning in for a kiss

And in those lips
In our sweet, sweet kiss
There is all the understanding
I need