By Dianne Moritz

He says, “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
Spicy cologne splashes his craggy face.
Warm steam sweats the cool glass,
as she giggles and plays along.
“Because I get better looking every day!”

Watching him comb back thick, gray
feathered hair, goosebumps prickle
her thin arms.  She steps close, kisses
his damp, worn cheek, startled to see
crow’s feet scratching the corners of her eyes.

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