She wears her tears

She wears her tears.

The pages of history
fritter in my hand,
that beauty queen Cleopatra ,
her affinity for her brother,
that is history,
my eyes go beyond the
half closed curtain;
the septuagenarian, cross legged
in the opposite before the polished
mirror, new flat, new luxury;
her wrinkles on her neck
a matter of yesterday,
today, her hanging skin
decks her coral necklace,
a bracelet of sea pearls on
her shrinking coil of hands;
every honk from her son diffuses
the smell of Dove and perfume.
His wife is missing in the hearth.
Yonder, the waves , roll and weave
A tale of woeful narration.
The old lady ,the bundle of untimely
Desire wears her tears .