Senescence begins the day you are born —
though youth may eclipse it
with a potpourri path
kaleidoscopic and gleaming
like freshly cut kiwi.
You may seem to blaze every forward —
yet each year is but a slight caracol
toward the savage and rusty road of dependence —
Retaining full control of mind or body becoming
an uphill trek with each passing milestone.
The cure, the most potent balm being
the tickle of skin on skin,
a hand in your hand —
the tingle of love
and a dose of what is true.