Imagine there were no tomorrow,...

... how many times would you pull me to the Pacific shore and kiss
me softly on the mouth? (... the heat rising, clinging to my cotton
dress like droplets of warm rain.)

How many times would you tell me how I light up all the stars within
the San Francisco sky? ... hands exploring, forever exploring, where
my rosary slips to sand, as you whisper Pablo Neruda against my thigh.

Each moment would melt me in so many ways. Each precious second,
stirring our hearts sweetly, stretching fingers to touch the horizon,
until we became that very sky.

-Cher