Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Even when we grow old 
hair the color of tombstones 
and bones that sound like 
wet windshield wipers as
we slow dance across the living room 
i will still make love to you. 
Like it is our last night on this 
earth. 
when our love fills the air like
blunt smoke from the joints 
we rolled our first night 
And that night we didn't just 
make love, we made life. 
life wasn't too much worth living 
until i peered into the the eyes 
of my first born child
and i thought wow. 
i will add this to the list of
things in this world i find 
most beautiful:
my mother's smile, the eyes of our 
child, you on our wedding night.
and that night was glorious
so we danced... like it was our last 
lasting as long as the music before 
it dies but our love never will. 
so when we grow old, hair the 
color of tombstones, bones 
that sound like wet windshield 
wipers whenever we slow dance 
across the living room, i will 
still love you like it is our 
last night on this earth and 
when our millions of children 
roam the earth, when the dust from
our bones are gone 
and our names forgotten, 
Ill be glad knowing it was our last.

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