“I am breaking up at the seams,” he said,
“you got to know me just in time.”
He closed his eyes and she traced the fine lines
at the corners, softly kissing them
mouthing words he neither saw nor heard.
She wanted to tell him that she loved
how the years have become him,
how the traces of time left their marks
like a pebble picked on a shore line
sea washed, sun warmed and sand stressed
the striae on his contours
the geography where past people,
places and experiences is history,
is the present and the future
she wanted to dredge the well
of his being, to measure the depth
of his love for the other woman,
to fathom his remaining dreams,
his wanderlust and that of his loins.
she wanted to tease his taciturn lips
but she hesitated,
he gave no sign.
She wanted to know where she fitted,
if she fitted,
in some niche
just as she fitted in the crook of his arm.