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May 20
not as old
as the mountains
or the trees
in the redwood forest

He’s moving slower
not as slow
as the Galapagos tortoise
he moves with purpose

His body’s softer
not as soft
as goose down
but soft enough
to wrap my arms around
and feel protected

He's lighter colored
not as light
as an albino
or a ball of floured
pizza dough
the darker hairs
have turned gray
the blush of crimson
on his face
has melted into butter
but I could love no other
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  53/F
(53/F)   
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