I love my best of you shine me through the vestiges of your spring make me, who has the wind still in his wrinkles, sing of how we love the silk softness of our whiten hair, chance with me the rite of our fingers through it, entomb us in that raging, mad, that sacred dance
Aging with you
I want to see my hair turn grey while you are smiling at me I want to sit next to the sea with you, and kiss your temples every day I want to sense the slow decay of time, behind the windows of our place I want to drink the smiles from your face and ...