He orders the usual:
Cranberry muffin, tea - orange pekoe.
I feel the poet's eyes on me as
I leave him to his morning scribbles.
Feeling worn from a dream-filled
Sleep, my feet do not move so eagerly -
His gaze in my direction then was
Not my beauty captured, was it?
He has noticed the crow's feet recently
Discovered framing the eyes that were once
Ocean blue and now nearly grey, my hair
Yet blonde with some help from Domingo.
I am fighting time, a battle never won
And when dawn cast its first light on me
There was no anticipating this day, for
Today I turn forty-five...
Will I no longer be worthy of your ink,
Dear Ezra? Will the muffins I bring you
Taste a little less sweet, the berries
Within not quite ripe, the tea weak?
.
2 comments:
o but Marjolaine, it really and truly does get better... and some women will always be beautiful... undoubtably you!
still, this is an honest piece, the feeling worn, I like the muffins a little less sweat and the tea weak...
a la prochaine,
sms
How very sweet you are, sm...
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