When I am 55 …

I shall be alive

And somewhere else;

A counting of takes and gives 

And reloved moments – 

When a fuck is 

So fine, not a whining 

Displeasure.

When I can ask you

To tuck me up

And out of such comfort 

Comes extraordinary 

Touch; that desire to ask

And beg and said and 

Say, and groan and moan 

At bad days and good,

And do what we want

Not what we should.

The future is yellow

And the Red has 

Brought us near.

So hear my voice 

And choice me

My love

All and for thrice:

This is tree!

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