So, I Do My Best To Pretend

I ache in places where my tired bones no longer listen. I ache like a creaking door. Expecting the hinges to break or fall off As surely as they one day must I wonder what new natural oils will work best. But distorted, swollen joints will not mend. So, I do my best to pretend. The pain is a welcome breeze, a blessing. And that the lines on my face are a welcome guest Are a lover's shadows giving off a passing shade? But then the cherry blossom falls like a linen cloth. And like them, another year later, I have nothing left. But the fruit of a stone. The stone of a fruit that's been drilling its way back home.