Not Toxic

Somewhere I read that age is not toxic. It does not make love sick,
get weak and die. Love is like muscles. You stretch your arms
to draw some shells near, bend toward the clear waters to inspect.
There are star fishes, red, orange, and yellow, decorating
walls of a room repainted to recycle its appeal.

We agreed early on that we will take up resistance training,
lift some weight from off our chest and dump them on the table.
We need to stretch our legs, arms, back, and life span
or pull up some web sites to get some advice. We really need
to work this out.

We convinced ourselves this: our love would be like the sun,
rising up to a new day no matter how often darkness engulfs
us. Tomorrow is another set of breakfast, lunch and dinner.
A new round of vegetables, fish and chicken to keep our bodies
from pork, beef, donuts and sweets.

I've got a wish: be here every morning even if Stevie Wonder
wails from the radio, 'this time could mean good-bye'.