And hold hands at Sunday masses.

And when it comes to the bedroom?

Well, nothing much would happen in the bedroom, because were 85

But we would still be down to take a walk, or take a drive, or sit and talk, and have a drink

And watch the passers by, and ask each other why

And how, and who, and where, and when

And then we’d laugh and cry again

About the people we had been

And I would touch her withered skin and comment on how thin it is, to keep in something infinite

And she would smile sweet and blush then tell me that I think too much

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