When I grow old

I want
         a thousand
                          laugh-lines.


For when rainbows dilute and notebooks fatten
on time’s untimely passing,
when the moon falls out of kilter with a sun that
curdles in a sad, forgotten sky,
and the rain congeals inside the clouds

when the slurry of seconds sinks deep into my bones
and my skin crumples like parchment, my spine coils and splinters
and my fingers buckle, knuckle-cracking -

when my dreams fade like polaroids in sunshine
and my memories break free from their kitestrings
unanchored and drifting in such dulcet mindmurk and I watch
the world crumble from gold into grey.

I want a thousand laugh-lines
for they will be the maps to better times

so I can find my way back