Graceless

I am old, Oh, I grow old
Now red is a colour way too bold
To stick on my lips and kiss my sighs
Goodbye with a heavier laugh
Than the one I stabbed between the ribs
When breath wasn't just a foreign word,
And grave dust flew like shooting stars
Between the hands of manic claps,
Between intervals of History's taps
On shoulder blades that looked across
Sagging chasms of rigid backs.