Wednesday, May 18, 2016

ageing

for The One

my mock-brave morning ritual
(following a deeply ingrained, if oblivious, mouth clean:
not too vigorous, now, a single minute long)
reveals a progressively pasty visage, unsprung brows
crudely curved over dull disillusioned eyes

suddenly I can't jump so high, run 
so fast, last so long without some 
deep ache digging in my bulging sides

who else'd accompany this husk
teetering on the edge of the inevitable 
abyss than The Beautiful One, six years 
behind me, ever faithfully
following my faltering footsteps

Written by I
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