The warmth of your body next to mine
Unaltered and ever present to my own
To lay here simply yearning for an almost
Infinite supply of time to spend on each other

Like the hopeless dreaming of how they
Are to spend lotto winnings not yet won
We mustn't wither away among frivolous
Thoughts of time we have yet to spend.

When the hands of the clock have arthritis
Seconds slow,
minutes pass,
hours cease to exist.

The past is not to last
Nor is the future the cure to our ails

Your nails look awfully like the time
Slipping through our clasped hands