If The Years Were Clothespins.

If the years were clothespins we could hang a whole outfit
to dry in the slaphappy wind.

If the years were balloons, we'd have a nice bunch.
Not quite enough for lift off, but at least some to share.

If the years were fat socks, our toes would be warm...
with a back-up in case of a fuzzy runaway.

Five years ago I stood before your square stature
in that stunning suit
thinking I might drown in tears of joy,
and I promised you the whole;
the unabridged me.

Cover to cover, yours.

If the years were crisp pages, I could fill them with the simple thrill
of knowing you're the one pouring over me...

word after word

until love takes us home.



Happy Anniversary, Honey...
The best years of my life are full of your smiles.