The poem is short and a little strange, and much of its pull comes from what it leaves unexplained. It opens with two odd images: a head that must be altered "for the king," and a hand placed between two people "like a used tool." Both suggest bodies being treated as things to be adjusted, handled, or put to use. The king's demand feels faintly menacing, while the hand, worn and set down between "us," sounds practical but also a bit distant, as if closeness has become a kind of equipment.
Then the speaker shifts to "we." Together, the two people "invent a new fashion," something "good for nothing" except to "silver over age." The tone turns wry and tender. The only purpose of this invention is to make growing old look like shimmer rather than decay. Judging by the title and the images, the mood is quietly ironic: there is some sadness about aging and being used, but also a playful, shared defiance in making beauty that serves no one else.