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It does not matter when you come;
just come before I die...
for I must see the gleam and
innocence in your transient eyes...

I desire too hear the wisdom in
your majestic voice, and dance
with you in a field of sun-kissed
yellow flowers...

It does not matter when you come;
just come to me before my decrepit
arms are unable to enfold you, and
press your skin beneath mine...

Come to me- before my moist- ruby
lips grow chaffed, from the curse
of time and unwettable by a stilled
heart...

Alas, come to me my friend-before
the chaos in your life spins out of
control, and forces you upon a high
ledge - whence, I can no longer
reach for you...