I am sixty-eight years old. It is my second wedding night.

I have not made love for decades.

I lie on my back, naked. Trembling with anticipation. I watch my second husband undress.

I saw him undress fifty years ago. He was my first, and now he will be my last.

To my eyes, he is not the stiff, balding old man who climbs into bed with me. He's still the young charmer with the brilliantined hair.

I hope I am still eighteen in his eyes too.

His touch is expert.

The years melt away.

True love, at last.