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Click hereYoung I was, and lovely.
Once, early on, in a blissful post-coital cuddle,
Hard hand soft with love
Brushing my hair from my eyes,
He whispered confession to my ear:
The first time we’d met in person,
He’d come to my office to meet a telephone voice,
Only to find me facing away from the door
And bent over a filing cabinet.
“We became an instant inevitability,” he chuckled.
I could hear his smile in the sleepy darkness,
But now, that once-firm bottom twice what it was,
He tells me that it just gives him more of me to love.
I believe him, almost, sometimes,
But know that he truly means it.
In any case, I can believe him more
Than I can trust my mirror -
Lying, traitorous, pride-sucking mirror.
Once, almost-abs he had,
Never muscular, but very strong,
A runner,
Mile upon mile,
Worn-out track shoes in the bin every quarter.
And now, in bed, I squeeze his arm at the whisper
Of a noise in the night.
Wizened, a deflated olive on a toothpick, but
His back straight for the first time in forever,
Wearing nothing but half-moon reading glasses,
He shuffles out to defend me with,
I kid you not, a sharp-edged what-the-hell?  sword,
Something pulled in passing from the depths of his years-ago closet,
Clutched in arthritic fingers.
And, old fool that he is,
I see in my geezer knight the man he once was,
And the woman he still loves.
What do mirrors  know, anyway?
Sweet.
Moving on, Growing up.
What doth youth know of depth beyond a mirrors 1D lie?
Last night, she held the broomsword, while her corpulent knight tried to budge the fridge.
Two shriekers as the four inch dragon raced, all too successfuly, for its cave of safety below the cabinets.
Racing Hearts subside so slowly.
A mouser for Mothers' Day?
Magnificent. Delightful choice of perfect words.
"Lying, traitorous, pride-sucking mirror" should be written on every frame in the world as an eternal admonition.