when we grow old, and my skin
would get wrinkled
would you still hold
as we walk in our garden
in our private little haven
…..would you still think
i have a beautiful hair
when it turns gray and fair?
would you still touch and smell
if the wind blows and mess it,
would you sweep it well?
if i could no longer strut when i walk,
and crack my voice when i talk…
would you still sing with me?
even if i sing off key? [like i do now...]
would you still think i’d be beautiful?
when we’re both eighty years old….
would we still be playful
even if we couldn’t be this bold..
i guess you will….
because i know and i feel
i wouldn’t care how you are
you will always be my shining star…
the same boy i fell in love in my teens
our hearts are made for each other…
would you still let me bitch around when i feel like fighting? i love you….
and when i do… [no more PMS as an excuse--ill use growing old and the meds then...]
just hold my hand still and hold me tight. and kiss me…
we’d always have good teeth.