Virtue
Time seems to move further from me
When I look at you
I see a pure person
A glass of wine
A single burgundy strand
Beneath my chin
Ceramic floors
Never before stepped on tiles
The swagger that remains behind doors
Constantly, responsibly
An indecent scent of fresh swine
Heated above your stove
Sheets woven
A bed time clothing
Lavender pores
Sandy beaches
The breeze that relaxes you
Against the shores
An aging man
Time sees changes
Out youth becomes children
Mercenary’s yield
To ending days
Only peace seems to appeal
My key no longer opens your doors
I am to be before you no more
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