Old love may bend with the euphemistic
Remover to . . . remove. Hey, that’s life, jack,
Death snickers. When you’re young, idealistic,
Amour seems like it could kick Time’s nut-sack,
But when the sands in the glass turn hair gray,
Bellies to sagging bags, there’s less hot lust
Jazzing up your blood. If mild warmth can stay
Through TV-nights, weak-coffee days, you must
Give thanks for this less than splashy win, dear.
Though “True” Love’s not Time’s fool, we are to think
Life’s changes won’t conquer all but our fear
Of the one thing we know for sure. Let’s sink
Into our bed, fairest, not wait for worse.
As Will knew, lovers lie. From this, comes verse.