The last time I did, you asked me this question.
I will no longer utter the words,
Perhaps we are too old for niceties,
for affection. 

Our interactions are brittle,
like crusty fungus on a tree.
What was once as easy as sliding butter over a hot cob of corn,
is now comically complicated.

The statement is there every day in the little things.
Both of us fulfilling a small need, a small chore
Occasionally a smile, a joke or even noticing a wonder of nature.

We are not always good company for each other. 
Still, we try, we pull the effort out of the bag of rags
we have collected over the years. 

The answer to the question is yours to struggle with.