Soulmate

A woman stands in jest by a wall, flanked by her man, still handsome who used to be tall. Mirth pouring from her lips, prescriptions fall from him as he bends in for a kiss.

Life alights from others who pass, for once they celebrate the contribution and forget the bus pass. Bent knee walks and chewed gums aside, they still hold each others hands with pride.

An example to all who believe war to be about oil, he he lifts the cup of tea for her, she calls the man to come and tend the soil.

Long past carnal questions, they’ve settled on the pair of eyes honest enough to hold their respective reflections.

The day before she had attended a funeral with a knowing sigh, her noble friend sat in the photo on the back of the card, taken a week before, waving goodbye.

Confined to their abode during a medical misery of a day he had awaited her return, he slipped his hand softly into hers, kissed her lightly on the cheek and changed her to content from stern.

They’ve quit the big questions like am I living in denial?  And taken up with mortality instead, the selfish creatures have little use for Prozac or irony, preferring tea and mulling the words they should have said.

Back at home, settled in for the night, sat on the couch, hand in hand, a certain distance apart. They turn to view each other and still recognize the spark, old they may be but they can still remember the start.