I'm not ready to go, just yet,
let me stay a little longer;
I'm not that old you know,
perhaps a bit less stronger.
But my mind, it's still alive,
sharp as a tack... (I think);
I have many things to do,
that will keep me in the pink.
Old age is but a state of mind,
I have pleasant memories;
the years have been but kind,
(tho' I've sailed on troubled seas).
Let me leave when I am ready,
I will fight the dying light;
I'll be wary of the coming storm,
and the never-ending night.
Let this life keep right on rolling,
like the pages of some book;
content with passages of time,
for the world, one long last look.

She controls her laughter,
lets it slip from the edge of her mouth,
the corners of her lips lift ever so slightly,
then, she makes a sound,
seamlessly, her fingers graze my thighs,
smoothly, her eyes meet mine,
and in her eyes, I see my reflection—
aflame, abashed, and fiery,

She is the answer I’ve scoured the world for,
and yet, she, herself, remains a mystery,

Ah, I see,
She controls her laughter
as easily as she controls me.