Day after day

Day after day,
Our love turns gray,
Like the skin on a dying man.
And night after night,
We pretend its all right,
But I have grown older,
And you have grown colder,
And nothing is very much fun, anymore.
And I can feel,
One of all my turns coming on.
I feel,
Cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum.