When my looks don’t match

My mind anymore

And I stop writing all the

Romantic porn,

Will you still get deep

In the gutters for me,

Have wonder for me…

Meet me on the floor?

Because as long as I’m making,

What I make is still yours.

When my hands start shaking 

I can’t keep painting,

And my work starts getting even less relatable

Will you still look out…

Still be waiting for me?

When my head gets sick

And my words don’t stick,

Will you stay with me in the rabbit hole,

Follow me into the pit

Of creative exploration

We were so blessed to explore?

Even when this makes sense,

And I’m speaking in past-tense

Of these sacred times 

Filled with color and rhyme

 I’ve been blessed to enjoy,

As we let these dreams lead us

To the spiritual core…

I will still be yours.

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