Sitting in a sunny field,
I spot someone special.
A mostly single someone,
save the silver wedding band.
Crow’s feet and laugh lines to match,
strands of gray flowing through black.
I am the beholder, your beauty is divine
Give me a night of your time
and I will give you
mine.
Sitting soon after on my sofa
she says she likes my smile.
In truth it’s the attention she craves.
No games no tricks no pills or sedatives
permission is all I need.
Your body is aged wine and if he never finds out
he’ll never mind.
Straddled strapped seduced secured.
I make her feel young. She brings me to life.
I make her forget. She helps me remember.
The Oedipus of my generation, victim by design,
abused by definition, a tragic hero in the making
as I recall a lustful moment
lost in time.
Like the other matriarchs, night falls and she departs.
They may be desperate, but I’m
a Freudian stereotype, a walking id,
the smooth talking kid who never
grew up.
Tomorrow I’ll be at it again with another,
at least three more by the end of summer.
Surrogate lovers sweating under covers,
smother the flavor of pleasure, my labor of failure.
In place of her, there is no other.
