I see my lover softly float across our home, quietly moving here to there. She is slower now, and her body is aging. I see her. I watch her to see her. Her body is now 72 and fills me with such meaning of being. I see in her body all the years of our love, our births, our adventures, hikes, travels, and a physical love for God in Christ have all marked her with the times of all these; marks of decoration. It's a great longing of love for her to know how I see her as the years of us born out on her body. Truth comes in beauty, sincerely told by her as her body can only tell me; our years together scaring her into an ever-increasing elegance I see.
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| Thanksgiving evening |
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