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.