Old age can find us:
he, soft bundt cake Adonis
with thinned red tapes
layering his peeking crown.
No, I don’t care.
I’d still miss him coming around.

Age does a cruelty to us,
and it tries to calm and cajole us
by softening our bones.
But I do not want to push him into alone,
to act the fool to this old fox.

It will one day be my turn to garden,
then occupy the flower box.
I would want at least one admirer left
to keep company with me
until I do.


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