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Love Poem

by Tom Nolan

The winter sun is still
an hour away, but
the full moon paints eerie shadows
on the new snow.
I point this out and you smile.

We sit at opposite ends of the sofa,
swapping sections of the morning paper.
The strong smell of coffee
draws you to the kitchen
and I watch you go.

You bring two steaming cups,
set one at my side,
lean over and kiss me
then return to your seat.

I thought, when we were young,
that old people never touched,
that their wrinkled bodies
made touching ugly.

Now we are old,
and when I see you
in your well-worn terry robe
I want to touch you
more than ever.

Copyright © 2008  Thomas A. Nolan. All rights reserved.

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Last updated:  November 4, 2008

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