As my very skin crumbles to ash,
this push-pull relationship continues to slip
out of my control.
A roiling envy at your facade of youth
and beauty, when we both know
that you’re as ancient as I am.
I long for the sweet caress of
perspiration (precipitation?) against
the parched, arid landscape that I’ve become.
But as you struggle to contain the darkness
that dwells within you, and savagery scars your polish,
I smile….and push away the weak desire
that still lingers despite everything I’ve witnessed.