Love is a home

She whispers in his ear

but there are so many cobwebs

that he has to turn up the volume on their old boom box to hear her

‘love lives here’

the big sign reads behind their couch, and emblazoned on her heart as well

she has to open the curtains a little wider to see it clearly

that is what age will do to you

lean in for a kiss, my love

she says again, puckering up, feeling the heat rising up her neck, as the coals burn in the fire

he still has this effect on her, lips meet lips, and sparks continue to fly in the fireplace

his hands cup her face and trace a line silently measuring every wrinkle, every part etched in the walls where the kids growth were recorded over the years…then they pull her in

she loves him wholly, leaky roof, warts and farts and memories

she rubs the bald spot

where the hair on the head and fuzz on the throw pillows are worn away

by time, by love

they hold hands, not caring about age spots and splotches on the kitchen wall that refuse to come off

no matter how many moisturising lotions and cleaning potions are used

rusty plumbing

due to creaking floors and bones

but still, they know each other’s nooks and crannies so well

they embrace in contentment

love lives here.