According to Their Years
She is old. So is he.
They walk,
Brown spotted hand in
Varicose-veined one,
Crackling leaves
Under sensible shoes.
Her blue eyes are milky now,
The skin between her fingers rough.
He cannot wrap his hands completely
Round her waist like when they met.
There is a limp in his gait,
More hair in his beard than on his head.
He can’t hear her
whispering in his ear anymore.
But according to their eyes
the one that walks beside them
is a mirror,
the only one either wants
to look at anymore,
because each reflects the other's
perfection.
This is tender. Endearing.
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