Gnomic love affairs
If you are old and I am young
will it matter upon the rising of the son?
After 30 noone asks, the tasks of children are all in hand
Duties are met and obligations fulfilled
neatness descends and orders our days
Time is the marching band to which we yield.
If I am old and you are young
Will they stop and stare
Will I be carded at the fair?
Beds unmade and deadlines missed
Lovers bliss and your sweet sweet kiss
A haze of wisdom in which to end my days.
Alone, a compacted soul afloat
not blissful or ironic but occasionally gnomic
I continue to exist when brutal doors are closed
I think and feel regardless of your year.
Love should hold no limitation true
but bound by convention,usually adhere
to what is known, what we fear