full of moxie and viscosity

This isn't meant to sound desperate by any means, but does anyone else ever get the feeling that their prime is slipping away? I hadn't thought about this in an artistic sense, only in a very corporeal sense (my hair is never going to be this shiny again, my breasts this firm, my ass this round, my skin this taut). But tonight, I have revisited this idea in an artistic way.

My conclusion is, it doesn't apply. As artists, we can only get better. I used to look back at old stories I had written and think I could never do any better. Then I'd write something so different, so much more grown up, the other stories were dwarfed. There's something lovely about those first stories, first poems, first attempts, but they're simply immature. Anyway, I think our prime as artists will be seconds before death. We'll be at the absolute best of our capacity. We can only get better.

So therefore. If someone wants to get the prime of my body, they better hurry up. But the prime of my mind, my art, my spirit, be in it for the long haul, cause I barely got on that train yesterday.