Shagging

 

If you look closely, you can detect the traces

Of teenagers drowned in the puddles of their faces.

 

Perhaps this is beauty’s curse, the clinging,

King Canute by the seaside singing:

 

Stop in the name of love. But the aging process

Stops for no one. There’s no recess

 

In decay’s schoolday, no stopping the seasons,

Even if you’re sockless and sporting Bass Weejuns.

 

carolineshagging

 

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