Been thinking things over and wonder if I’ve
taken this whole longevity thing too far.
I could’ve watched the World Cup in a bar.
I could’ve passed on potions, had some Five
Guys. What pleasure’s wasted trying to contrive
a cure for God’s own au revoir?
Death’s not a curse, although it is a far
country, strange, and when men arrive
they yearn first for their lost bodies, then
for the words they used to speak aloud, and last
for a favorite food, familiar song, but never
for a pill, poultice, drug, immunogen:
the score the body kept is wholly past.
Love most what’s value add is: not forever.