Bronzed

That dusty bubble gum, once ubiquitous as starlings,

is no more, my love. Whistling dinosaurs now populate

only animation studios, the furious actions of angels

causing their breasts to flop out in mannerist

frescos flake away as sleet holds us in its teeth.

And the bus-station's old urinals go under

the grindstone and the youthful spelunkers

graduate into the wrinkle-causing sun. The sea

seemingly a constant to the naked eye is one

long goodbye, perpetually the tide recedes,

beaches dotted with debris. Unto each is given

a finite number of addresses, ditties to dart

the heart to its moments of sorrow and swoon.

The sword's hilt glints, the daffodils bow down,

all is temporary as a perfect haircut, a kitten

in the lap, yet sitting here with you, my darling,

waiting for a tuna melt and side of slaw

seems all eternity I'll ever need

and all eternity needs of me.