You have found a way to stay
young; I cannot envy you.
Your age will hunt you down.

When you tell your children
prepare for death, they will
pull you down into their grave.

Every organ fills itself with
loneliness. What you touch turns
to gold and kills your pleasure.

Late at night surrounded by sharp
things, no sleep and flawless skin
you watch the arc of dying stars

with desperate longing.

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