Age

In equal measure, I think, I am in awe of and despair over  
the creeping creping of my skin...



At once mourning and marvelling at the easy egalitarianism,
The superb stealth of the ageing process,

I am mesmerised by the happy horror, drawn by the fascinating flirtation;
The fait-accompli of my forearms and hands, shrinking and kinking
While one snores.

From crinkle-less silk that never needed ironing,
To crinoline crepe, that seems to make a point of it

As if disdaining the very notion of drip-dry, silken youth
Suddenly too smooth for its own good.