NoUbby,
The sun, jealous of our burning passion as it hangs in the sky, has never served a greater purpose than this morning when it illuminates the folds of your wrinkled face as we lay entwined on soiled sheets. How I long to run my finger down your forehead, over the gnarled lump of dried apricot that is your nose, and finally, to your scarred lips, torn and withered from years of abuse. I part your crusty mouth-covers, and gaze inside at the menagerie of jagged tooth-like things and sigh in contentment. Today, the sun rises on the rest of our lives.
I tolerate you,
BT