It's my favourite thing-
Uncovering the wrinkles on your face,
Discovering the frown lines left in haste.
I can almost taste
Your anger from forty years ago,
Like in the tears that flow
---And I can smell the regret---
Dont you forget;
You give your own game away,
Whichever game you're trying to play.
Thatjoli sourire , my love,
It is but a masque, my dove,
My pigeon-
That outline in the haze.
Forget not my constant gaze.
That is what it is.
Constant.
Yes, constant.
