Never land

I was seventy six years in
asking “how many till I’m out?”
I was a burnt bulb, my pieces
rattling at any,
all movement.

The clang of champagne glasses,
the crash of every romance.
Never the right words,
never the right dress.

It was August 12th,
2:34 AM,
He was watching me count
wrinkles, stretch marks, blemishes.
I was leaning over a silvery mirror,
my tears catching in those creases.

“Girl, why are you crying?”
--“Not girl, there is a clock inside of me.”

Sweeping my grey hair back,
he whispered about adventures into my seashell ears,
he played in the salty streams on my delicate face.
Absorbing the salt, he savored me, he saved me.

From there,
We counted only stars,
No more growing up,
Only living.

--Dreaming,
half way between sleeping and awake.