maybe until our hands reach out and we fly anti gravity boots straight up to the moon and beyond stretching for each other as we go our separate ways only to meet again will we be together.
certainly after the money under the mattress has dissolved into our dead skin that pools and becomes dust will our children find us holding hands, the chicken carcass sitting in the stove from the last time i tried to cook you dinner.
we will take walks together, even though right now you hate them, and when i start to go blind and demented you will remember my passion for the written word and in your gravelly worn voice will read me volumes of poetry you don't understand.
across the universe we will sing our wedding song that i have secretly chosen, and i will dissolve into cackling laughter leaving you to be the strong one.
or maybe i am the strong one and i don't know it yet- i have a tendancy to float on when all i want to do is drown, and maybe it will be you that needs me, stricken with grief or cancer or something even more morbid.
i'm sorry, i think of these things.
i would put down my pen, and pick up the baby, and learn to make the best mashed potatoes you ever had -even better than your mothers- and we would become one person under the fool moon as our baby becomes a graduate and builds his own nest.
today and tomorrow, shaky as they are, give way to a future in which there is only you and me, only forever, here and now.