Bell Inocencio

this: to you, my fair lady

i am old and pale and wrinkled
my soul creeps to weary and 
century-old. i am old and pale
and . . . dying . . . and dying.
i am old, and she is old.
we both live like ancient ghosts
and we're both dying.

this: to you, my fair lady.

we grew old. we'll grow older
and we grew with love and
we'll grow with love. we grew 
and we'll to die. we lived. we love.
the souls that bond the syntax
of time . . . yet, we lived for love.
we'll live to love and die.

this: to you, my fair lady.