We Jamaicans say:
"A new broom sweeps clean
but an old one knows the corners."
So, at fifty-five,
I've grown practical.
My imgination has populated itself
with the possibility
of many others --
other than you.
But humans are imperfect
and the man of my dreams
being so perfect
is --I'll admit it-- idolatry.
Idolatry in either case, I think.
My God who is perfect in all his ways.
Or my worshiper who finds me flawless.
And we're getting old, you and I.
Too many corners
For new lovers
To discover.
So yes, my love.
Let's begin again.
Carefully, slowly, patiently
With forgiveness and kindness.
And learn to kiss again.
