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24 years early
thinking about the small chance
that i could be 70 some day
waking up and washing my face
and writing you a love poem
and just sliding my finger along
your cheekbone would be
something to make my
blood pressure medicine
ramble on
that your romance will
still toss the heat
that i could kiss you
and look at the wrinkles
around your eyes and
perhaps know
that some of that
is from the joy
i have brought
and that i would write a poem about
