I prefer sun spots over porcelain,
If you tell me we’re all gonna die anyway.
I take laugh lines over taughtness,
If you tell me dirty jokes now and then.
I won’t hide my loose belly-button skin,
If you buy me beautiful silk saris to wear.
I will abide by water spots and scummy faucets,
If you only use the guest bathroom.
My nails, my eyebrows, my hair will grow.
My eyes, my hands, my breasts will go.
I prefer now to before or after.
If we’re all gonna die anyway,
I’ll wear my sun-softened skin and flash my wrinkly smile,
And the iridescent jewels on my sari,
Squeezing against my naked midriff,
Will blind you to the water spots and scum.