Suddenly she’s aged,
wrinkles have permanently settled in her face
despite creams that promise eternal youth.
Massages her throat
don’t want all the folds I have got,
keeps her chin up
avoid looking down
that make her trip on uneven pavements and often fall.
“Does my wrinkles show?” she asks,
eyes begging me to say no.
“You are as beautiful as you where ten years ago” I say and kiss her nose.
I’m not a thief, a robber of illusions.