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Retirement
September 5, 2014
Your love is making me old.
Your kisses shorten my breaths.
Your hands shape my back into a hunch.
Your absence digs lines into my forehead.
Your words make me clutch my pearls
Like a fifties movie star.
But I’m no star.
I’m just a button on the remote
That lives in your hands,
That is controlled by your whim and will,
And your gaze pushes my fast-forward button.
I’m stuck aging
In a world
Where you are not changing.
© Chris G., Kannapolis, NC
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