In a moment in my golden years
I wonder if I’m an onion, each year
representing another layer of love peeled away,
flesh flayed, torn from the core.
Oh the tears I’ve shed, chopping at time,
thin-skinned and thick skulled.
Funny I’m appalled now to find
I’m not half the catch I was,
find my senescent self assuming stupidly
I play the role of the young romantic.
When I date I’ll dodderingly wonder
why love can’t be the same as it was.
Then I recall I’m still single,
so it’s exactly as it was.
Lanning Lee 