Zywa
The forgotten in-between days
I've celebrated it
forty, fifty, sixty, the ten-
year steps of my life
have been preserved as memories
among the countless parties
of others, just like me
aging and remaining who they are
even though something starts
not to correspond in the mirror
When did that happen?
Was I present?
With my friends?
On forgotten in-between days?
When my hair thinned, my skin
weakened, and I became different
from how I feel everywhere
where I touch myself
it is still familiar
I am ageless in life
with a deeply rooted pen
that wants to continue to enjoy
the taste of the deep
water, filtered through the earth
sunk from the present
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