To an Aging Lover

"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first."
Revelation 2:4

 Today we go back to a Shakespearean-style sonnet I wrote in 2010.

Your love is a bloom that’s crunchy and dried

From rosy to brown: You left it to rot.

The yestereve of yestereve it died

Like the lonely lover you forgot.

Your love is iron crunched over by rust:

A steel sword to slice through medieval foes.

It beat off dragons and lions and dust

But caked in winters of winters it froze.

Your love is wind: it dusts crunchy, dry air

That used to loft scents of flowery spring.

It bites your bronzed skin, your lips, your teased hair,

Your fingers that will never fit into rings.

Just as lives wax in order to wane

So with your love: its life was its bane.