The Words We Spoke
Remember when
the words we spoke
were sweet as aged wine?
But now, those words
are bittersweet
with the taste of lemon rind.
Words, we often speak
with disregard
for time upon the vine.
In youth we drank
the sweetest wines
and kissed with lips
of fire.
Now, those lips are bitter cold
absent all desire
and only seek
to speak of love
when it’s the grandkids
that we hold.
We blame the change
on bodies wracked with pain
or tears that fell
and spoiled the wine
or lives destroyed by rain.
Yet, in our hearts
the deepest part
we know that love still lives
and shows itself in gentler ways
as words remain unsaid.
A simple touch can bring
a year of love.
A glance, a memory.
A breath across parted lips
can be a love song on the wind.
A gentle brush on naked skin
reminds a rendezvous
from those years we lived in sin
before we said, “I do!”
Our love’s not lost
it simply changed
the language that we use.
-
Author:
MendedFences27 (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2022 12:37
- Category: Love
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm., Doggerel Dave, Dr. Soma
Offline)
Comments6
Great❤️
Thank you, Soma
I really enjoyed the last part, felt like the cherry on top. Its a lovely piece. I love it
Thank you Shaa. I have to admit something here. I thought I was done at "I do." but after several re-reads those last three lines came to me. I'm grateful they did. Thanks again.
Really, that's quite interesting. I myself while reading it thought that was the final part but those three lines really change the whole outlook of the poem
A wise and tender look at what happens to love over years -- those final lines say it all Phil. A beautiful read and it goes to my favourites.
Thank you, Fay for the lovely comments.
You captured the dynamic of a long term relationship to perfection there, Phil. I felt and could identify with every development, the passing of time…
And so was my time with your work well spent here.
Thanks
That love will always be with you Phil no matter what words are spoken.
Andy
Good write Phil.
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