Within each crease lies my past.
An historic furrow,
burrowing above my eye line.
The platinum curls form
a crown, not yet the weight
of the band, that held our vows.
Safely set aside, to marinate in the salt
distilled from inconsolable tears.
Daily, as the bath fills
I recall us sharing a story,
knee to knee,
shin to shin,
bubble to bubble,
until the burst promises
were replaced by goosebumps.
Had we both outstayed
our welcome of the other?
I wish I had been more courageous.
Stepped out of my mind and body
months, years, a decade earlier.
Yet now on this day, some seven hundred
and twenty since, I stand, proud
of the visual indentations sadness has left
and wrap my right arm, gently
around the shoulder of your memory.