Age

This one was especially difficult to write.

Age

They say age is just a number

And a title is no more than the responsibility it entails,

So how could it possibly matter,

That she has two children fast asleep on the couch

And a husband

who likes to put his feet up on the coffee table after a long day of work

When it is she who wears the pants in the family

Not to mention the skirt, too.

She lets down her hair

Allowing it to sweep against her upper back

and it’s a magical sight to say the least

She goes to speak

and leaves me breathless in the process

unaware that she can placate the raging waters of my mind

with just a single word

Her smell is enticing

and I cant help but crave haven

between the lengths of her arms

Upon this laughter we share

She physically lifts my spirit up out of its body

and into the warmth of the bright blue skies

For a mother,

a wife,

is but first a woman,

deserving of love, and lust,

respect and sheer admiration

no matter the cost

no matter the source

and years might as well be

the number of freckles

kissed up onto her by the sun

or a sum of facts and useless know-how

amounting to zero knowledge

about the true meaning of our world

instead of a rusty old number

that we refer to as age.