i said, "i can't imagine-
91 years old."

my lungs are scarred
and the fear is over
but lingering, still.

i miss being held
in such a way that
you sort of forget
the origin of sin
and all the troubles that were
cast over you,
disappear in a light,
drizzle of a rain.

all i want is to be
called sweet and ***** names-
under blankets,
in between the chaos
of life,
after kisses,
during war
and in lieu of peace.

i want a stare so intense
that it will make me forget
the lack of innocence
that was my childhood.

give it to me.
fill the void.
**** living forever.