Buffing the cherry wood, old silver,
pitted hopes, stitching hints of you into
pillow, duvet as agate skies howl,
always you have looked at me with love,
and practiced for my sake your beauty—
shy, yearbook smile revisiting
chestnut eyes when we return to the flesh
for a time ignoring the soul wrinkles.
How gracefully you greet time's
non-ovations which come like vagrants to feed
in our commitment of days,
your style ever steady against the years.
pitted hopes, stitching hints of you into
pillow, duvet as agate skies howl,
always you have looked at me with love,
and practiced for my sake your beauty—
shy, yearbook smile revisiting
chestnut eyes when we return to the flesh
for a time ignoring the soul wrinkles.
How gracefully you greet time's
non-ovations which come like vagrants to feed
in our commitment of days,
your style ever steady against the years.
