Bookends... A love poem.

Old friends, old men
shared a woman at the bookends of her life.
She never thought of it that way until today
when “Bookends” was out loud and shocked her into age
She’s to the mirror thinking only of the grey hair at her temple and her first love
how she hurt him, how he faded like the colour in her hair
one day, the memory, was just no longer there
but first love clings, hangs around unwanted and
unwelcome and accuses us of all those things
we failed at in our other loves
Untidy is your life old friend.