Do old lips still sing in the shower?
Rinsing wrinkles down the drain by
Scrubbing thrift-store skin with fresh soap?
Or are crow’s footprints too deep around wise eyes
To trace the hesitant fingers of the curious middle schooler,
The callous fingers of the tenth-grade band nerd and all the
Adoring fingers of the men you let
Up and down those smooth curves?
Caw Caw’s might echo to deprecate instead of embrace
Since nakedness was hard enough before you had to mend
Damages of sagging, a curse from some type of Stalin.
And even with knowing that redressing isn’t an option,
There’s still a persistence to just beat it, beat it; deny the ripe fruit to grow stale.
Yet, maybe there are some old grannies
Possessing a husband, lover, or belief that regards their three shades of gray as
A present and insists their stretch marks are ribbons adorning the package that’s within.
These old lips must still be singing.