This Love is Passing Time

 
Seven years is how long it takes
for all of our cells to renew themselves

I'm not who I was when we met
the texture of my face has changed
and my skin drapes differently on my bones
some scars lighter, others deeper
more have been added, still bold and new

This body isn't the one discovered
by first touches
or revealed to eyes you once had
nor, in time, will it be the one held now
in arms you'll no longer have
both aged and refreshed
through these septets of time

My feelings mixed
in some ways soothed
that I've shed the surface
of unwanted transgressions
yet saddened
because the only traces left
from old loves, of many kinds
exist exclusively in the mind

A complicated sort of comfort
that makes holding your hand now
as significant as the moment
our palms first connected