This poem reads like a conversation overheard through a bedroom wall—two people who have loved each other long enough to joke about decay and mean every syllable of the affection underneath. The structure is built on a question-and-answer engine, each exchange addressing a specific anxiety of aging and disarming it with humor, tenderness, or both. The opening thesis—”beauty grows with age”—is a statement most love poems would simply assert; Plahm instead submits it to cross-examination, letting the body’s decline testify against the claim before the heart overrules it. The wrinkle-to-curve reframe (“What about the sags? / Must be the lovely curves”) is the poem’s first comic triumph, turning a physical complaint into a compliment with the speed of a stand-up pivot. The tremor response—”I’ll have the kid cut the anniversary cake”—is even sharper, acknowledging limitation while insisting on celebration. The poem’s tonal genius is its refusal to sentimentalize aging: forgetfulness is met with “Ha, I was always waiting for that,” as if the speaker had been rehearsing for this moment his entire life. The emotional escalation in the second half is carefully managed: the exchanges move from joking about bodies to asking about reality (“Am I real? / I know you are”), and the shift from comedy to existential tenderness happens so gradually that the reader barely notices the register change until “I love you! / Yes, Yes, Yes!” arrives with the force of something held back for decades. The closing invitation—”We can be devilish together. / As always. Together.”—is perfect in its implication: whatever “devilish” means at this stage of life, it means it together, and the repeated “Together” is both punchline and prayer.

One of the most immediately charming poems in the HoneyBeeBard catalog, and its 44 likes reflect an audience that recognizes itself in its wit and warmth. The question-and-answer structure is inspired—it gives the poem the rhythm of actual conversation, which is what love between long-time partners actually sounds like: not grand declarations but gentle volleys of humor and reassurance across the breakfast table. The comic timing is consistently sharp: the anniversary cake line is a gem, and the “devilish thoughts” callback that bookends the poem gives it both structural elegance and a wink of mischief that keeps the sentimentality in check. The poem’s most sophisticated move is its gradual tonal migration from physical comedy (wrinkles, sags, tremors) to sensory intimacy (touching, tasting, smelling) to existential declaration (“You, make me real”). This arc enacts the poem’s argument: authentic beauty is what remains when the body’s surface has been acknowledged, accepted, and transcended. The laughter lines stanza is the poem’s emotional centerpiece—”Your laughter lines? / Tell stories of happiness I’ve shared”—because it transforms the physical evidence of aging from deficit to archive, each wrinkle a record of joy. The “I love you!” eruption, with its triple affirmation (“Yes, Yes, Yes! / Loved, Loved. Loved!”), is deliberately excessive, as if the speaker has finally run out of witty deflections and can only state the thing directly. Minor weakness: the poem’s conversational style occasionally tips toward flatness—some exchanges (“What about the inconsistencies? / I think I have those issues as well”) lack the sparkle of the best ones, and the middle section could be tightened without losing the poem’s cumulative effect. But as a portrait of love in its later seasons—still playful, still hungry, still choosing each other—this is among Plahm’s most relatable and warmly human works. A companion piece to “Love’s Wrinkles” and “Is It My Jagged Charm?” in the catalog’s growing celebration of beauty beyond youth.