Ends, and other things

Before all of us die,
Come, fall in love with me one last time.
Not me, but us.
The things we are or were,
Or won’t be.
The things that happened, because other things didn’t.
The endings make sense only in retrospect.
Before it ends;
Before we die,
Or live,
(however things end now)
Let us fall in love again.
Love like very old people,
Slow, meticulous, silent
And thoughtful.
Love like wine, and moonlight, and old coins
Buried in the garden.
What if you loved only once, and never come back?
So the time I spent, dreaming,
Would be lost?
Would it?
What if we die unclaimed, waiting for the fulfilment of youth,
That never will be again?
Waiting for the return of nineteen year old sex…
But what if not?
The new sex is old bed sheets,
Stained and misunderstood,
But comfortable.
Still,
Fall in love with me once again,
Before it ends;
As it ends.

 

 

-Shakya

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