Nude, rubbery skin
with etches in flesh
deep, aged, finely meshed
into a woman of wisdom.
If I were a cheese
I would be ‘at prime’
or, if I were wine,
I would be ‘divine’.
But I’ve no mouse on my trail
and my bouquet’s not so fine.
I’m a well-honed gal,
hair turning pristine
(hold on, don’t be mean).

Think nude is pretty
(I’m wrinkled silly)
no model but etched
into a woman skin slipped.
If I were money,
e’en old … welcomed so.
If I were sunshine,
I’d glimmer, still glow.
I’m not money but I s t r e t c h,
like the sun, I cannot flex.
A well-honed honey.
preserved, stone-aged …
Queen of the Sage Age!

Nude, rubbery skin
flashes till you faint.
Can’t be what I ain’t …
neither devil, saint.
If I were Ma Earth,
men would study me.
If I were a tree,
men would climb … gladly.
“I think I’ll be a tree, Ma,
though it sounds a bit ‘cheesy’.”
Glimmer’s dull, cash nul,
my bouquet’s well-aged,
and my name’s NOT sage!