While the man is away
He enters a world of make believe
As his virtual pen scribbles a page,
Whilst she is 'tethered' -
Held in place by a paralysis
Of the marital kind.
Her hair magnificent in white,
Her love pouring into the home,

Into the world, into every crevice

Needful of her wisdom

And her boundless femininity.
Beauty gloriously personified -
About which he vocalises
Devout and loving recognition,

And will continue to do so

Until the end of time.

Time? Age has not done him well
In respect of...  tautness.
She tells him his legs are good
But all he sees is his paunch - 
A suspect of familial genes.
'There's little one can do
About genetic gifts', he muses,

Them having been
Handed down through time
And hammered into flesh
Even before it leaves the womb.

The air is rich with memories
Separated only for minutes
In half a century of years.
He leaves his atelier
And journeys homeward safe -

Which takes so little time -
To a canopy of entertainment

A capsule of time travel

Where imagination allows
Cementation for ageing bones;
Harbour for two blessed ships
Whose sails are slowly firling.

 © griffonner 2026