They're at my ear
Hurtling with elan,
I a senile crone
With rancid lips
Will comb my half grizzled hair
Scalloped in bands.
Scurves not bloke lips will kiss my neck.
Lisping and drawling, cussing and snorting.
I will forget the way to dismal tastes.
At dusk make a cup of coffee and forget to add coffee.
But I would it is myriad days away.
© Namaganda