Oldest flame

Like the colours of a rose
fade away, will his lust.
I’ll watch his passion wither,
His desire turn to dust.
When all has left me
and wit, my only charm,
will i be able
to keep him on my arm?
Once i’ve lost the hair he loves,
my perfect skin wrinkles litter,
my gentle laughter choking,
making his ears bitter.
Will he still love me,
as he claims he does now?
my charms are limited,
But im meant to be his somehow?

Oldest flame

sillyblonde

Joined September 2007

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