2.14.19 - Poem

Sixty-six years from now

Sometimes
I worry
that I’ll run out of ideas
or new ways
to tell you how I love you
to make love to you
I’ll run out of words to say

On that day
I’ll die

Keep us alive
Love yourself, first
as I loved you
dancing on hardwood floors
kitchens and bars
under rain-soaked stars
in the backseat of our cars

Those days
We lived

Life with you
made the difference
between darkest night
and the sunniest day
Shimmering constellations held 
no beauty like the curves
of your infinite smile

Nothing will
Ever again.