A Last Night of Love

I am, sort of, a viejo - getting older like all of us and was recently graced with a latin lover in Argentina half my age and twice my beauty. We enjoyed greatly our sharings, then reality sighed.

A LAST NIGHT OF LOVE

 

Last night, last love, last look and we share a last sigh

She. She is exquisite. She is delicious. She is a bit younger.

I am, out of a deep yearning, looking for love. I see her

And there is a tumbling, sighing, slide into her.

She. She is a rainbow of goddesses, and younger.

I am bedazzled, my hands, lips move of their own accord.

She succumbs to a wearing of our wonderments �" our love.

She is a woman child, she never heard of James Taylor.

I still listen to him, I no longer run miles, my glasses get stronger.

She is lithe, dancing before lunch, to my fond laughter.

She �" her body, enchant….her aura, smooth beauty

Embrace my would be wisdom, and toss me on top of her,

Her pulchritude overwhelms, beguiles, and makes me a moth

So young her flame, so many suntrips have I seen,

The math sucks, it won’t go away, and lurks like a love thief,

Peering out at us perps sowing seeds of doubt.

A bitter harvest but one I encompass with new wisdom

She is a lot younger, I got a lot older as

In a night of last love, she cried while I held her beauty

And slowly withdrew to a solitude

Graced with the presence of miraculous memories

Of this young young mujer/chica, and of love.

Author's Note

have some fun with this - there is a lot going on. Hoping you might engage with the wisdoms and emotions and realizations presented, as well as the happy transcendence of time lines....