Old Love
My love is old
It no longer dances across the pages
With wanton desire
And graceful stokes
It is a blessing and sometimes a curse
Contented, clumsy and exposed
we're that same comfortable pair of shoes
tripping over one another
through the years
breaking rules and
shattered vows.
Smitten by our own laughter
For now, our puzzle fits.
Morning breathe with
soft kisses despite
forgotten anniversaries
but not forgotten lives.
Hurts that forgive
and hurts unforgiven
Arms that fold and unfold
but still never letting go.
It has enmeshed
Intertwined over the years
Like clinging vines that have tangled.
Only to be unraveled
by the hand of death.
Copyright © Nora Gibson | Year Posted 2020
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