graphics: balancing beam.
“You’re my balance beam, Red,” he said, slipping an impossibly long arm around her waist.
“Oh?” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I make you wibble and wobble? Flail your arms about before you fall flat on your rectangle of a face?”
“No, my self-deprecating, theatrical beauty. You keep me on the straight and even. You keep me on my feet, keep me moving forward. And thank you for that.”
“You’re mad as a box of cats, Bello,” she smiled fondly, leaning in for a kiss.
“Love you, too, gorgeous.”