Ode to time, but I am still 29...

Inside your body,
your age is growing,
Inside my body,
my age places foot after 
wandering foot.

Time is unwavering,
it never rings its bell for time out,
it increases,
it journey's
it shows up within us
like water that deepens
within our own watching,
until next to chestnut burning
that is your eyes
a slender grass blade arrives,
and the trace of a tiny river,
and a small dry star
ascends to your lips.

Then time raises
its threads in your hair,
and still in my heart
your fragrance of honeysuckle
lives like a fire.

It is beautiful,
how,
as we live,
we grow old in the living.
Each day
was a transparent stone,
each night for us was a rose of blackness,
and this crease that has come to your face,
to mine,
it its stone or its flower,
the souvenir and memory of a bolt of lightning.

My eyes were consumed
by your loveliness,
but you have become my eyes.
I exhausted your twin breast
under my kisses it seems,
but all have viewed in my joy
their secret splendour.

Love,
it doesn't matter
of time.
I am still 29...