my long married wife, not tactile,
i rack my brains to make her smile
– but she is loyal, truthful, prosaic:
many attributes, sweetly archaic;
period-style dress walked down aisle.
she rubbed off my many rough edges,
strongly affirms our marriage pledges
– but she doesn’t always get my verse;
she’s not squeamish, a good nurse
but her love has little lace around edges.
there’s always an extra mile to walk
– tenderness should sweeten talk;
it’s easy to be quick and cross,
tears fall, hearts crack, love’s loss
– our promises not written in chalk.
both our heads have long gone grey,
our regal dreams part-fade and fray,
we still absorb bright coloured hope –
renewed vows, no vain trope
– what language does love pray?
painting: ‘Etimasia eleusina II’ by Agostino Arrivabene