Lovers

I place my finger gently
on the surface of his skin
and trace the dips
and hollows
in my lover’s wasted flesh,
finding caverns
where once
smooth rounded muscle
met my touch.

The frailty
of his ‘old man’ ankles
makes me catch my breath.
Bony and delicate,
ready to snap.

Undressing,
fingers tugging feebly.
Head disappearing,
turtle-like
in wrinkled sweaterfolds.
His back revealed
unchanged.

But now he’s stuck.
Stick arms held fast,
Suspended.
Like chicken wings,
sharp elbows out.

We tussle briefly
with green cotton cloth.
He rests awhile.
Just in time,
I stop myself from saying
“Well done!”
He is like a child.
Helpless, frightened.
Stubborn too.

I feel the tremor
in his touch.
But in his timorous caress
there is an echo
of the confident and virile grace
with which he wooed me.
He reaches now to hold me
in a hesitant embrace,
and in the silent darkness
we lie together for a time.
He must recover something
of a manhood lost.