Been trying for days to write this poem,
but the words, they just won’t come
I fear it means we've lost our fire,
our marriage is just ho-hum
I considered what we used to do,
the hours in states of undress
The romps in closets and cars and loos,
playing 'avoid-the-kids' chess
But now that the kids are all grown up,
the chessboard's simply the bed
Though surely not in such frequent use
as it was when we first wed
And, yet, we search for one another,
'touch' still a physical need
I find dad in the garage or yard;
you find mom's retreat to read
So, now that the words are fin'lly found,
I get what I didn't see
Those years of chess we played together,
wove bonds between you and me
Our need for each other's way past sex,
beyond vow or flow'ry phrase
And, yes, there's still need to 'check that king',
but the bed will do . . . most days!
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