there will be a day when
i am old and frail.
reflecting shades of grey and white;
with my once youthful hips to be as flimsy as car sale balloons,
and my skin to no longer stretch and pull miles
but be made out of prized porcelain.
so easily shattered and bruised.
and i will close my eyes of clear glass,
feel the warmth of the sunlight heating my
half dead corpse as i look back to my first loves —
to a time of sheer innocence and
think them to be only trivial.
of insignificance.
and i'd laugh that same childish giggle
from years ago.
