Heat like middle school, only different, because now I’m my own restraint. Head is spinning from her pretty, not sure where line of admiration taints my feelings of enjoyment with a desire that smells of lust. Revel in elated feeling when around a sparkling crush; I for so long, seems forever, have bandied admiring words of blue, for the most part just acknowledging drive that makes the whole world new.
Seems this time my heart got tangled and I can’t control thoughts of her, walk that tightrope, skate the cliff’s edge to get a whiff of love impure. Laugh at all those straight laced fellows who refuse to play the game; can’t they see hormones are treasure, dervish dance within attraction’s flame?
Always just pleasant diversion, fence with parry but without thrust, stupid old man feeling weary and middle age his spirit crushed. She laughs at advancing passes, looks at me so fatherly; just a dozen years of difference, no hint of cradle robbery. This rejection stings like nettles as the weed I only brushed, know in my heart that these feelings are a thing quite dangerous. I go home to loving family and a wife whom I adore, thankful in my disappointment that I escaped being man whore.
Biology being what it is sex is what first attracts us to potential partners yet it is love that binds us together. It is easy to become infatuated with someone- to take our fantasies and wrap them in the pretty facade that stands before us. We don’t see the person for whom we lust but rather the object of our infatuation. How can we see her? We don’t know her yet! But we build her up in our minds as an object of desire.
I am a most fortunate man. I have a wife who is smart, strong, beautiful, desirable and powerful. She knows that I flirt with women who are also smart, strong, beautiful, desirable and powerful and trusts me to always be faithful to her and to our commitment to one another. This sacred trust is something that guides me in my actions as I bow and posture in admiration to the pretties around me- my actions must never betray myself, my wife nor our marriage.
Rehearsing and playing with Diana on stage for the last two months has been a delight. She is forbidden fruit that I look on as most succulent, but as I said in my poem, she laughs at my advances as she plays our game even while knowing that this time my admiration was a bit overwhelming for me.
Thank you, Diana DeSerano for being my loving friend and laughing with, rather than at an old fool.
Lovely Scarlet Diana parried with a verse of her own. (I’m sure glad she’s my friend!)
Pubescent fervor strikes
both young and grey of hair;
envy, lust caught unaware.
Glances tossed and smiles,
pitching words so sweet to hear;
You player of the game…
Swing and miss! Her silent cheer.
Did her beauty strike your match?
Her confidence fan the flame?
Her compassion draw you in?
A victim of your own game.
She laughs because she sees you
knowing you do not see her.
The spectacles you wear
have a tint that often blurs.
Smiles, glances, and sweet words;
Snake Oil to her wounds.
She’s no prey to take that bait,
It’s you who’s been consumed.
Consumed by your desire
for who you thought that she might be.
You failed to read her book;
although she’d tell the story for free.
So she politely parries;
then feints and disengages.
a tactic often useful
no matter what the age is.
Rejection of illusion;
a sting only you will feel.
She has no disillusion;
her defense as cold as steel.
Fruit that is forbidden,
or is she poisoned apple?
Enlightenment or slumber?
With that she knows you’ll grapple.
Go home to wife and family;
she’ll not be a whore’s excuse.
Remove your rosy glasses.
Stop playing fast and loose.
She’s grateful for attention,
but it loses luster fast;
and if you truly saw her,
more questions you’d have asked.
Her beauty and compassion,
confidence and intellect,
Is her life and not a game
to play with, then neglect.