Laureate Manqué?

I don't seem to have written any poems about the now-dead queen — except this one, which dates from when she was 90. Will it do?

'Philately'

When you were young, Elizabeth,
I'd lick the nape of your pale neck,
Tongue you till you were sticky with it,
Then dismiss you coldly, pass you
To friends, to strangers - quite forgotten.

We meet less often now,
And when we do are politely distant,
Exchange not lips but fingertips at most,
In self-contained and self-adhesive age
Hugging the blank white walls.