The dropping of the fresh, flesh, beauty veil

Like a cocoon reversal, where age builds and slowly covers

fresh, youthful, butterfly-ish gorgeousness. 

The youthful beauty leaving

makes way for clarity and clear thought


You bow less often now at my feet, O Admirer

(although my feet do not show my age and are steadfastly, thankfully, still perfect)

I am pleased

that to some I am now invisible, less visible

Please look though me and past me as it is not you I long to communicate with.

Your arresting gaze

No longer holds me uncomfortably in its compliment.

I find that I am glad

(and sometimes a little bit sad)

But thankful for the pleasure of youthful beauty dropping away.

About eatmystreet

Join in the joie de vivre.
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3 Responses to Age

  1. Iris Orpi says:

    Oh wow. A delicately and complexly captured paradox. This is so wise and so vulnerable at the same time, a wonderful balance. It says a lot about your character. Great work.

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