When We Are Old

One day, when we are old
when we are frosted as the winter
when we walk slow as Time
turning often to look for the other
lagged, lost in thought, but never far
You would remember that once
a long while ago, but not so long
that I was young.

You would recall
as I teeter in your footprints
how I ran, two steps at a time
upstairs, but never down
that my ankles, which you thought
delicate under your strong handed caress
made you ache with longing
Now aged bones, truly fragile
could snap, shatter like icicles
if you but looked too hard.

March winds would howl
through my locks, once raven
now spun silver, flow as iced river
beneath a bridge where we always stood
to kiss under orange sunsets
beneath moon swept nights
that now we'd lean against, rasp breathed
to regain ourselves, to sigh
at the ravage of the seasons.

You would lightly trace
sandpapered fingers across
my furrowed brow, deep lined
from life's sun and laughter
meet blurred eyes that see beyond
years, tears and hope oft regained
find once again the girl, jasmine scented
black hair falling thick and fast
upon your chest, your upturned face
gazing in mute, mutual wonder
at love's entanglement.

We would pursue unmoving
the course of sailboats down river
Note the stir within, the quickened hunger
our instinctive, nomad's discontent
our unstayed, footloosed yearnings
for adventure shared and savoured.
Then our hands would seek
their familiar, consoling other
for solace in half remembered journeys
purge, through unsung songs
upon our thinned, parched lips, the unbelief
that those days were only dreams.