either I stubbed my toe, or that's a cougar

ah, the magic of newfound lust
after years of celibacy:
she was the last one
for someone to trust,
the sculptor of the fallacy,
purveyor of rust
and what passed for normalcy,

and I was undone.

older by ten,
and wiser by twenty,
she knew paydirt
when she spotted it,
and I was plenty
to fool with

and I was just enough fool
to carry it off
as she slowly schooled me,
tooled me
tapered me
tempered me
tortured me
tackled me
tormented me
and left me

wasted,

a pink pile of sweat
on an 80s sofa,
precursor to the 90s
loafer:
bent,
denied,
tangled,
tied,
so lost in video
that I didn't know
where to go,
so overcome
by a missing someone,
that it would take years
to figure out what
needed to be undone

ah, but what a glory was she,
I thought, as my feathers spread,
oh, what a prize
to have sprawled on my bed

of course, what I did not see,
what was invisible to me,
was that bright red target,
painted right above my eyes

and when she dropped me,
like a slippery souvenir,
all she said was:
"I'm leavin' here."



May 2, 2010. More moments from my checkered past.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.