I want to grow old with you.
I want to walk into the kitchen and
find you humming over a *** of tea.
I want to see the mischievous twinkle
in your eyes, the lines of aging crinkling the corners.
I want to watch your hair grey.
I want to watch you gazing solemnly gazing into the fire
and you'll look up and see me watching,
and you'll smile.
I want to kiss the backs of your shaking, veined hands.
I want our headstones side by side, with
some sort of love poem on it.