Becoming Dust

will you still be at my side when my teeth have dropped like rotten apples and bleeding, shrunken gums form a smile will you still want me as my waistline expands and my belt buckle becomes obscured will you still need me when sounds once clear trail away and I stare like a mad priest to hear. will you accept me for me and not wish for a cardboard cut-out devoid of sensibility and personality will you remember that my tea should be weak and sweet yet my spirit will be strong and sour and make a note of my romanticism (if you find it please return) I’ll forget birthdays and anniversaries for sure. will you still desire me when I am old and bent and wizened cackling politics, inflation, foreigners when my poems become vicious slogans venomously scrawled onto bare paper as I forget my way in our bedsit as I forget our shopping on the bus will you still love me as I slowly turn into dust?