In the Evening.

In the light of streaming golden dust
I lie on my cold bed
and stare at the last patch on the wall
of the fading day, orange on the white.

Distant sounds in the street
murmur away, a babble in the background
and there is just me, growing cynical,
and this silence.

When I am old, I would like
to see you anew,
and see if this has faded too.
To watch your eyes skim my face
as you recognise the girl you knew.

To see if I recognise you.

When everything else dies away
I wonder if this will be the same,
or if, like everyone says,
it fades. You need more.

I wonder if when we are old, and time has passed,
we will still be eternal.