My Poetry: My Youth is not Dead

My Youth is not Dead

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I hum a song you say
you don't recognise,
a song you may never know,
for we are yet to share
such intimate secrets,
perhaps we never will.
You joke, I smile
till my eyes craze at the corners
like a broken plate,
your eggshell skin, smooth
and uncracked, reveals only dimples.
You make fun of my mobile
and my CD collection,
how my 90s shirt is worn
at the lapel and cool again, almost.

All the while you remain immaculate;
scarlett lips in jet black cloak,
wise in knowing the facts of youth,
thinking beauty will protect you
from the echoes of time,
but before too soon you'll hear
the melancholy bell
which chimes for lost years,
feel the pull of gravity
as your smile slips like chalk cliff.
And as you question the songs I hum,
I remind you my youth is not dead,
just as yours will grow old,
but not today,
for today you glow.