As I am Aged…

(“Old Man” .. Rembrandt.)

Alas!………alas..

No more to trust in personal attraction,

For such is so many passing years affliction,

I now must be content with wishful thinking,

For women I hold in delightful company,

Needs must be in the main; untouchable.

So invention is the mother of my necessity,

If I am ever to enjoy again love’s intensity,

Not in crass, vulgar crudity, but rather,

In silent contemplation, in imagined sensitivity.

So let me close my eyes in considered fantasy.

:

Her smile the warmth of a lover’s thighs,

Her voice the musical cadence of passion’s sighs,

Delightful caresses with each sloe turn of her eyes,

Such is the way that my love now transpires.

Neither layers of cloth,

Nor crush of crowds,

Nor hubbub of noise from traffic out loud,

Can interrupt my secretive ruminations,

In my silent, private world of fantastical collusion,

With wave upon wave of delightful allusion,

As imagined love I make to this warm,  comely woman.

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