A wrinkle.
Now barely perceptible.
Being perceived.
Is to banish it.
Awakened to hands.
Frantic to remove it.
Lubricants, scented oil,
and Mary Kay.
Just for a day to be free of it.
It always comes back,
with a friend.
Left with nothing but age to cover it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem