maybe today
maybe not tomorrow
I slather my skin
with adjectives of guile
and shrink at mention
of those emerald greens

those uniform teeth
whimsical saturation
and tessellates of wrinkles
where the armor have gone soft

a spray of fingers
which deft in shadow
tinkering with the time
as it narrows in capsules

the fruits have blurred
and the glimmer marginalized
sustain this eloquent guild
in the heart of Matilda