Hearts at Work

A Column by Jim Tipton

 

THE MUSE AT EIGHTY

My once young muse is now this ancient crone!

No longer pampered by the masses

She slips into my room at night alone.

“I come to you she says,” in that old tone

That made me vulnerable to her passes.

(My once young muse is now this ancient crone?)

My tired heart listens, no longer stone:

“My love, all those other men were asses.”

My muse slips into my room at night alone.

“Those lovely ladies I found for you outshone

The world itself, a type that now outclasses

Even me your muse and now this ancient crone.”

“You’re beautiful,” I say, “but what testosterone

I had has gone away, not knowing at long last

That you would come and slip into my room alone.”

We both look now like bodies made of bone,

Standing naked but for canes and glasses.

My once young muse and still beloved crone

Has slipped into my room at night alone.

I WANT A WOMAN WHO SHOWS SOME WEAR

Sensuality in the young is rare—

In youth, hormones, not soul, hold body hostage.

I want a woman who shows some wear.

I like the way those babes toss back their hair

And buck like wild horses through the sage,

but sensuality in the young is rare.

Who do I want for a first-rate affair?

Erotic wisdom really comes with age.

That’s why I like a woman with some wear.

I want curled with me in a sofa chair

A seasoned goddess of the Golden Age.

(Sensuality in the young is rare.)

Her sense of presence moves the subtle air

Around her, her lips attract our homage.

I like a woman who shows some wear.

Old Time has not been able to impair

A bit her loveliness, her deepest image.

Sensuality in the young is rare—

I prefer a woman who shows some wear.

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Comments   

#1 Wes Gietz 2016-07-18 01:46
Sweet and true, Jim. Thanks for brightening my day.

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