Age is Sexy
Age is sexy.
Period. No exceptions.
Well, wait. I guess if you’re like, 98…
When does it stop being sexy?
When does the fruit on the tree turn
I have eaten young apples with
large, rotted, moldy
spots of flesh.
Age doesn’t seem to make you rot,
something else is the culprit.
What makes an apple rot?
Is it a witches potion?
Or a bitches brew
Does Snow White age
when she sleeps?
Or is youth and beauty what she
Gains by sleeping through?
Does it poison you instantly ?
or is it a lifetime of decline
slowing up on your spine
withering, weathering, tearing up constantly
a disease of the mind
Age, to me,
seems to be perspective.
The numbers are arbitrary.
The build, the climax, the decline, the decay
all mirages of stories we tell when we’re dead
Nothing about age is relevant to me
only what you’ve done, what you’ve said
what you’ve seen.
So yes, age
Is sexy to me
only if you’ve lead a life worth living for
and didn’t play it safe, hoping that
someone would see you later,
waiting for the one you’ve always loved.
Then, age, seems full of folly.
There is no living unless you’ve
risked all for life and love–
without regretting falling.