I want to hold you
kiss your cheek, whispering
“Love you”
three or four times
then just be
as without the gloss
of the mask I’ve torn
from my face
“this is who I am”
cannot be more obvious
as I pick at my flaws
you smile, and sweetly say
“I love you too”
as my heart weeps
with a profound joy
that me, at 50, fat, grumpy
moody and distant
love finds me in the
brambles I lay at my feet
I miss someone whispering those 3 words to me.