I see it in others.

The gentle touch.

Been together for so long.

The patina.

Why did you leave me

long before the surface

was all rubbed to a gentle

mirror shine?

To make that object

that we feel the need to touch?

The patina.

The glow, the richness.

Being robbed of that conclusion

seems unfair

somehow.

And so I polish

the things special to me.

The intrinsic, small and loyal things.

I’ve nothing more to do.

Not until I achieve what I long for.

The patina.