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Soft as the vinyl’s crackle they kissed, a lazy old tomcat crooning.

Every wrinkle layers of lightly-sketched lines drawn by artist Time.

Even they stand at attention–uniform–to salute a sacrifice.

The winter clouds are back. They unloaded the car and brought in their bags.

For the mirror has shown me–fairy tale or not– half-dead, beastly tears.

In my dreams, I see a prince. And so my eyes are shut. Love, wake me up.

Forced to, he backs down. Not quite six feet tall, he goes. Smokin’ Joe Frazier.