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.