She

She told me
again
about her boyfriend
whom she will
likely marry
and to whom she’s given
her heart
yet still she mourns
the love of
her life.

I wondered why the telling
required her breasts
to caress my arm
but
I like breasts
so did not complain.
Perhaps it was the
hard
lemonade.

A young girl
returned my casual hug
with a hard embrace
and I began to
think
perhaps this is my
week for massive
breasts.
Again, I did not
fret.
Though in my mind
I am teaching her
many
wondrous things.

Two women
whom middle-age tries
to steal
giggling like schoolgirls
over my photo.
I told one I
look good
from thousands of miles
away, if you squint just right
But she did not believe
me.

I feel the old me
the young buck
rising again
and the world is
about to become
soft and very sweet
again.
Despite the hard shell
I carry.
They seem to like
me hard.

Words have long been
my gift
and understanding women
my curse. Now, however
in the throes of
middle age
I am blessed by no longer
having a clue what
they are about.

Curious, insane
creatures they are
with wondrous gifts
that need a tender touch
and a kiss or two.
I have plenty
that I have not yet
used.

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