her love has little lace around the edges

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    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


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