Aging Love

My lover's hands are knarled like rotting wood His movements stiff with all the pains of age. And if his mind could comprehend a book His fingers could not work to turn the page. My lover's speech is often slurred by drink, His breath enough to cause me to retreat And if his boots and socks to be removed There's more than fungus growing on his feet. My lover's skin has yellowed with the years And cracked from many days spent in the sun. His teeth have suffered sweets and lack of paste And crumbled, leaving him but one. My lover's cheeks are sunken, hollow pits. His empty eyes find much around to hate, And if you were both starving and near death He'd steal the bread and butter from your plate. And though he's horrid, monstrous, and cruel, I love the rancid, cankerous old mule.