A grand dame, gems a-glitter at her throat,
Smiled down at my and husband’s hands entwined,
Remarking on how obviously we dote
Upon each other. Oh, how she maligned

Those lovers who ignored each others’ eyes
To stare at glowing screens throughout the meal,
And after eighty-seven years she prized
A life well spent enjoying what is real.

Her words and fragrance lingered in the air,
Approving warmth and Eau de Shalimar,
Leaving us flushed with pleasure, yet aware
Of shared perspective, even from afar.

While phones may give directions while we drive,
It’s sharing love that makes us feel alive.