The uncomfortable dress sticking 
Thickly to a nerve wracking body,
A single light flickering catching my eyes
As they mumble their prayer,
The sense of unease settling in my throat,
Blocking my heavy breathing from escaping
These locked lips: painted a pretty red,
Eyes now the blue of the sky with another lie
Dancing between my mind and my mouth,
All the questions they ask about my past,
The decency of being discreet flees with the 
Rising, eager hunger in their rasping, aged 
Voices; each of their words croaking like 
Toads from their wrinkling, chapped lips,
Wet tongues moist with jabbering gossip,
The crows' feet around their cataracts eyes
Waltz upon decaying skin; and I'm 
Still young; the prey mumbling to pray,
Greedy hands pulling and tugging at my 
Child-like flesh, their wishes to renew,
Regenerate to their former selves;
Oh, how their alienated bodies would 
Benefit from the Fountain of Youth,
But I must be second best to their 
Witchcraft; weaseling out of my the greatest 
Points in my adolescence, sucking me dry 
Of my own life; the light flickering catching
My eye as I remember in time for the 
Young Ladies' Luncheon.