Time binds us
tightly with red silken ribbons,
woeful reminders of
our naked mortality,
acting as string tied
round fingers to remember,
even if we want to erase minds
and forget our deadlines.

We are not gowned to our toes
in the golden gleam of forever,
one period upcoming
in our lives,
hopefully a fair distance
from present skies.

Our epilogues will be written
for us by fate
and death combined,
achieving a certainty
we have known since thigh-high.