In Need of Some Reassurance

Will you still …

love me

once
all traces

of supple

toned

smoothness

melt away?

When this pate

is encircled

by a

silver

halo

replacing the

coronet of

thick auburn

tendrils

which I

now wear

will you still …

care enough

to smooth

grayed locks

with loving

absent minded

abandon?

Will you still …

want me

to cup your face

in my hands

once these fingers

wither

disfiguring

themselves

into

gnarled  twigs?

Will you still …

think me beautiful

once

my spine

curves

to form

a question mark

my shoulders

brought low

by time's

heavy

millstone?

Will you?