I hold my beloved's face in my hands.
Eyes closed, I can still see every plane, every angle,
Every blunt surface hewed like a stone Buddha's,
Incongruously warm and soft to the touch.
He holds me in an embrace
As firm and familiar as a parent's
Must feel to an infant,
And instinctively I feel safe.
So this is old love?
As layered as vintage wine
Aged by time
Refined by constant care?
I will take it over young lust,
Over blood rushing and passion
Mixed with fear of abandonment
And the shame and pain that come
When the other walks away.
I will take long drives in silence.
I will take evenings watching TV.
I will take the kind of laziness
That can come with the security of love.
I will look back on the mistakes we made
And smile with pride that we overcame them.
I will remember how it felt to be young and alone
And find a kind of comfort in my own aging.
My beloved's face is now etched with lines
That tell the story of our married life.
I gaze with satisfaction at the crinkled corners
Of eyes that have seen more joy than disappointment.
I hope that when he looks at my fuller form,
My sagging face, my wrinkled brow,
He remembers how I looked when we met
But loves me more as I am now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Suzanne He loves me more as I am now”- lovely write.