You wear your smile. Like it was going out of fashion. Dress to inflame. But douse any ideas of passion. . You carry your love in a trinket. Hanging round your throat.
Begging me to stay. I'm laughing in your face. So desperate not to let those years of care. Go to waste. . But it was you who wanted love not romance.
I want to be old. And creek by the fire. I want to smell of rotting wood. It's all I desire. . I want my joints to seize up. I want my legs to ache. I want my eyesight to fail.
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