The Only Love Song There Is
(Left To Sing)

Where it used to be about
skinny knees and tight,

tight jeans, now it is about
wrinkles and how there is

love in every crease.
There is wobbling, wibbling,

and never more beauty than now,
when the has been inside pulled out.

There are still clean teeth
and even shiny, shiny hair,

but the hair has flattened and
with age, grayed at the seams.

It is in sitting across the room
and sharing a knowing smile

that spans the years, the kisses,
the struggles, the children,

the wild passion, the sickness,
the dances, and the fights,

where love, true love is found.
The years knows this, finding

them sleeping side by side,
fitting together night after night

in a bed where nothing is left
raw, everything is smooth,

no two days the same, still
somehow set in a perfect routine.

This is the only love
song there is left to sing.

This is the only spark
of light that is not fleeting;

looking forever into the same pair
of eyes, and still finding

something worth stealing another
glance, a million or more times.

© – SKK

(I was telling someone a week or so ago that I sometimes find it difficult to write from a happy/hopeful point of view.  It’s odd, but when I write, it’s usually about mistakes that are so far in the past, I don’t even relate to them much anymore.  That I mainly write that way is a little sad, really.  I’d much more like to capture the happier moments in time, mark them with a few words, rather than bask in the wrongs that have been done now, as well as so far in the past.  With that in mind, I vowed in the same discussion to write something positive, not too cheesy, from my (much more common) happy/hopeful point of view.   I’m not sure if this is exactly what I had in mind at the time, all I know is that I have typed above is what came about, and I think I just might like it.)