Stuff goes out of fashion.
These are not the first words
In a stranger's seduction
But an old lover's appreciation.
I thank God that old does not mean former
And that time's passing has not dulled passion.
Sometimes it is necessary to be honest.
I love your face on the pillow, just before sleep,
As slight and sweet as a child's
And trusting me.
And I love your routine kisses
Best their meaning, then moments when
Their moist, warm sherry-sweet allure
Compells the act's continuation.
Tens of thousands, and still
I would not forgo the next.
I love finding my hand
Clasped in yours,
As a child's thumb finds its mouth, careless,
With no conscious intention,
Knowing there is no better place to go.
I love rooms that you have been in and left your mark
- Your absence proclaiming your presence.
I love your undimmed youthfulness
That beggars experience and the passage of years.
I love your grace in allowing my place beside you in bed,
My privileged hand still learning
Your lovely body's warm essential forms.
I celebrate the fact that I can end a book of poems so unoriginally for you.
I love you. You.