It has not been the romance
The pushy teary passion
Of young eyes
That has kept me
Loving you
It has been the turn
And nod
Of your ever-changing
Head
Your curious but hesitant eyes
Your reading list
The almost imperceptible
Pause before you speak
Your love of beautiful
foreign objects
Your habit of arriving
Early when I will be late
Your boyish happy and sad
Your way of telling me glass-hard truth
over a cup of warm cocoa
Your odd little tooth
Showing like a kitten’s fang
When you smile
Your constant motion toward gentle change and renewal
Your daily news
Your daily self.