Standing by the bed you have grown old

Skin creased with sleep, a face sown with a lifetime of laughter and anxiety 

Your beard is white as the May, more white than grey

Lichen brows shield your eyes. 

We are old my love, sagacity and incapacity fruit equally on our bows

 

You absorb this truth slowly, like soft rain misting the dawn

Standing accused not of rage or youthful recklessness but simply age

Your mouth forms a small o inside your frosty beard

Eyebrows raise, astonished....

 

And there you are.

 

Those burning eyes, forest green lit in the sunrise with amber fire

Jewelled memories of everything that has gone before

Laughter, tears, guilt, regret, passion, compassion and love...love...always love.

We will stand through this storm

 

My heart, older than yours and weaker, swells with mad pride

My beautiful dutiful man

My love.