If I could predict a future,
I'd see us in twenty years.
Withered with smoke stains
and the monotony of old
age, we would be 40-something
degrees – slight brisk
on a late fall morning.
And though we will chill
with the onset of the years,
there will always be that
subtle hint of summer
still hiding in our bones,
the slow burning ache
of years past, the regret
of lives unlived, and the fire
so continuous of our deep love.