I wrote this poem several years ago without any specific couple in mind, but it becomes more and more personal as our years speed by.
The Old LoversAsleep, their bodies rest as spoon to spoon
or else are pressed together spine to spine.
One of them dreams a night of summer moon
when firm young bodies meet and intertwine.
One dreams they climb a trail in blazing noon,
leap boulders, savor scent of fir or pine,
gaze down on unknown lands they’ll travel soon,
their years before them in an endless line.
They dream apart, but each dreams they’re together.
They drowse then turn and waken face to face,
illusion’s threads unraveling seam by seam.
They touch the dear soft flesh of one another
then almost desperately the two embrace
fearing that one might soon hold only dream.