A speaker stands over a sleeping partner and is struck all over again by how beautiful they are. That sight pulls up a memory: trembling fingers on the first button of a white blouse, and the night of the proposal. The detail about the button is small but vivid, and it shows how nervous and tender the speaker felt back then. The line "I didn't know the answer til you said it" admits that, even at the moment of asking, nothing was certain.
The poem ends on a quiet ache. The speaker thinks about how "simple and right" everything would be if only they could say all this aloud, which suggests they never do. The feeling is plain enough, but it stays locked inside. The mood is soft, intimate and a little wistful. The nighttime setting, with one person awake and the other asleep, mirrors that gap: love is fully present, yet the words never cross the room.