No matter what I will celebrate the deterioration of my body. I will forget the sacks of my neck. The scarfs flesh burdens will not remind me that I have six minutes to escape and that I will fail.
No matter what you see look closer. I am only a ticking clock away from myself you knew then. I look to the calendar, truths that my mother knew, the due date is ordained.
I don't delay the search for company, I am sitting on the edge of my genetic map, Henry, waiting for my skin to turn tan, as it always did, every summer. No matter what.
I am not gentle. I am a kick away from screaming. The lies of every soap manufacturer are written in my old face. And I don't like it. I want to be loved again, to rise in the warm morning singing.
To be alone at the cracked end of the sidewalk is to be tempted over again as I was at twenty seven. The last real estate is sold to the younger woman. The light skin of my youth is pasted on his memory. I would no longer be of interest to him.
The tomorrows of then have passed and I am in the window. The mirror is not true, it sees me old and alone as the last line of the play.
No matter what I want to remember the suntan on my ripe body but gone. No matter what I cry to be remembered in a life of gone by