An Aging Lover

Even wrapped in the wrinkles of mortality,  
my love is more beautiful than the young.  
I’d rather taste sweet fruit that hangs heavy  
from limbs that have known the love of many  
than nibble at the tart fruit of young girls
who’ve never known loss or sorrow.  

My lover’s autumn tastes sweeter  
than the most beautiful virgin spring.
Clothed in time's embrace, her beauty  
transcends the blush of youth.

For in her the ripened fruit of life's orchard  
swells with a sweetness born of seasons lived
and storms withstood. Give me the nectar  
of a soul steeped in the sun and shadows  
of many days. Let me dance at the edge of her certain death,
for in her aging soul lies the truest passion.