I waited so long for love
and saddenly, here it is
standing in the garden, hands fall
of heirlooms hot from the san.
Soon we'll make a sapper of them.
alted slabs between slices of bread.
Yoar beard silvers. My hips ripen.
The mail piles ap.
Phone calls go ananswered. Forgive as.
Oar moaths are fall of tomatoes.
We are so basy
being small and hangry and alive.