will you still love me tomorrow?

will you still love

me

tomorrow, she says to me,

as we

sit on the couch,

by candlelight,

Marvin Gaye

playing softly,

kissing,

and trying to figure

out the mystery of buttons,

snaps

and zippers.

that's a song, i tell her.

Carole King, right?

ummm, yes.

she says.

but it's still a viable

question.

if we do this, will you

still love me tomorrow?

pffft, of course,

now, about this dress,

i'm having trouble

with the tiny clasp

in back.