Performance assurance,
it's not on my mind.
But a next-morning
pillow, complacent with time,
or the wedding to party to funeral line,
and the "Sorry's" and "Thank You's" and
half empty sighs.

Not a fan of commitment,
but just love is just fine,
not the money or muscles,
for which you will pine,
when I'm grumpy and bitter and old, and confined
to the frame of a man who was once so sublime.