All I want is another couple hundred
years, high clouds and full moons, dramatic,
ancient trees, sand and chocolate, cafe
au lait, full breasts and slim ankles, ankle-
strap shoes and drawers full of pantyhose
just heavy enough to camouflage minor blue
veins and things that have begin to appear
on my perfect legs, Jeanne or her equivalent,
“Je t’aime!,” “Je t’aime aussi,” / “I love you,”
“I love you too,” with or without an “official”
stamp of approval, another couple hundred,
a couple thousand, indefiniteness, even
“forever” sounding short on miracle planet
earth seasoning around its fireball sun.