Love poem by an old married guy
Opening
Years fall to the table
as petals – fragrant, supple –
a lovely disarray on faded linen.
My banner, once skillfully curled,
is unfurled by tiny degrees,
catching the breeze in a weary wave.
In this unraveling, I open to you
my cabinet of curiosities,
a trophy case, gathering dust,
half-unpacked boxes,
shelves of dog-eared books,
and secret drawers that only
your fingers can open.