Cliches Few Else Poem by James McLain

And your face is all about me
every sign I pass is a song to your testament.
Enduring mascara little lines
seen in others flaws.

On top of cabs my last stop the evening prevailed.
My last stop in Manhattan,
everyone is not built by you in one single
day overnight success.

Your fragrence is now all that's left
a cliche others wear sprayed a cross between
all the lactating breasts
as all the babies grow it seems and day.

Cliches are for all the younger women whom do
aspire to those heights
we have safely traversed and climb down from.
And to see the youngest of girls
the newest
abreast with each other as once we we're.