WHEN WE'RE OLD

The lamp switch holds my fingertips.
My kiss reaches your brow.
Carefully I pull your book and lay it
on the ground.

Seems the tenderest motions
I've ever processed in my life.
Know my hand and heart will follow
These steps, till we die.

When you are 80 my love,
I'll go to make my tea
Back in bed I'll reach for your book
and hope you reach for me.

--Diva