A Backhanded Compliment

"You look young for your age,"
Said the impersonal stranger
Writing from his postcard stronghold
In the cybernaut dimension.
Age not withstanding,
My youth is corked up
In an unbecoming genie-bottle,
A flagon dusty from travels and travails,
Six decades in the mellowing.
Not many jiving Joes online
Care to plumb a plummy depth;
And I suspect that savvy palates
Belonging to the worldly-wise
More likely will appreciate
My subtleties of flavor.
So to my random flatterer:
If you believe there's merit in my vintage,
Then do more than appraise me by my label;
Uncap and swig me down, o timid taster,
And after that assess me, if you must.