Your drink it sits
As if in wait
You make no movement
From breath you take
Collecting looks
From mens hungry eyes
You believe youre worshipped
In your middle aged lie.
Soon your lips
You will allow
The pleasure gained
Glass to avow
An aging goddess
Whose lives in dream
Things arent the same
But you believe.
As your make up takes
Longer to apply
About crows feet
Around your eyes
All is fantasy
Until the young arrive
You leave your seat
And wave goodbye.