After
Moving the Plant on the Dresser
Despite Feng Shui enhancements and Viagra
we don't make love.
Weekends
pass as if workdays, filled with ant traps and TV.
We fondle,
but the body aches and tires as it didn't used to.
"If
youth only knew; if age only could." We fashion our intimate
caress as
if caress were all one craved; craving still; that private
loneliness. Where passion? Twenty years.
What we could tell you,
rollercoastering. Years stretch or snap. The greatest sting always
from the unextended hand. "Love's
a function of communication."
Love
returns in its cycle. Still the body
waits.
Muriel
Karr