I've come to that age,
when I'm starting to wonder—
about my last words,
before I'm no longer.

Will they be wise,
the words that I utter?
Or will they arrive,
direct from the gutter?

In the throes of passion,
if that's where it ends,
will my last words—
be words that offend?

Or will they be muffled—
by way of a pillow,
by a long-suffering wife;
my soon-to-be widow?