At his face it got harder to stare
But in his truth he would glower
Into this looking glass
That looks right back
At the years of age
That washed his face
Over that disgraced fortnight
and it’s dragging scrape

What was his counted,
that ruffling came natural
In a sentiment of the innate
and the inner mechanics of his climate
Co-Walkers, he thought viewed him a cynics ornate
From then on, became perpetually discounted

Though his face got harder to look at
by its contents,
Optics inflamed
and wrinkles elongated
to his whiskers growing skyward
a striking true spruce in essence to become
Nevertheless a bedraggled authentic
Just before a flooding pooled his lids
or the dawning of his tears
Until this vanish to enhance
These characters took on relevance
Apropos of what he saw looking back
The girl, his love, the spirit inside his drive
She could see all directions, like hands on a clock,
Every hour the dialed sun would tower
Giving her all his angles,
She could anticipate all of this,
including all opposites
She could see all that
To her,
His face was not hard to stare
Still chiseled but shaved,
like polished marble glare
Her love was true for years
Opposing claims would be intercepted when asked if during she dabbled in deception
Then immediately accepted their quiz, taking near comfort as she’s done for years  placing her lips closer to his eyes,
she kissed his cheek and licked his tears