carefully arranged wine soaked pout
as stout as any endeavour.
With age has come duty- a sense of
what’s required of a not-so-fair-maiden.
Sweeping tousles from her alert eyes
strokes linger ambiguously over her brow
tracing down smooth cheek
Some cold remembrance of who she was before.
The stem of the glass welcomes her embrace-
those rosebud lips part, slightly
knowing she is being watched.
Comfortable in the knowledge of captive audiences
a great actress tried to convince herself
that all was right with the world,
she found her answers,
in bittersweet corked Merlot
that she became better with age.