My hands don’t look the same as I remember them
There are new lines creasing the chocolate brown skin
I compare them with my daughter’s smooth flawless forms
As she gracefully walks across a stage
and I say Hey…you took my hands!
My thighs don’t look the same as I recall
There are sloshes of color and funny white dots
I think of times when they were the hugh of a plain Hershey bar
Wrapping around my mans waist feeling his power invade me
What is going on?
My mind doesn’t think the same as I reflect
There are moments of childhood memories that are clear as day
Then there are lapses of what I did a few hours ago
Let alone last week…
Where is my Red HAT?
I guess its just age.
I can live with that!