When she sees his smile,
A magma joy blossoms within her.
For his smile is of her crafting,
and it is her warm, prided longing
to caress the work of her own hands
that seeks to pull her heated, beating heart
from its place at the corners of her eyes,
out from the upturned edges of her lips,
through the very extremities of her tingling fingers,
and into a beautiful gift.
Just for him.
To keep him warm.

For his joy draws from somewhere
very near the base of her love;
and she could not stand to lose it.