There are hours we do not talk.
I sit in my room pecking poems
like a lunatic and you read novels
and listen half hearted to the TV.
There is music in such silence
the song of the long marriage.
It is never sung the way we think
full of beautiful words and wet kisses.
It is the song of acceptance.
The song of forgiveness
after pulling out your hair.
It is a song or realization
that there is no sunset.
You are not Jennifer Aniston
and I'm too short for Clint
and too dam old to be Brad Pitt.
But in this whole wide world
we are puzzle pieces
that have learned to fit.
Together we make a picture
on the cover of a box
marked half off.
I walk into the living room
and our eyes meet.
We each send an air kiss
and go on about our day
in the kind of love
that is simply enough
and more than I can ask for.
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