Young Love
Young love, so delicate, so fine, entwines and binds
with twists of mist that curl like twine
around a girl and boy.
Ensnare and tear at thought and mind,
until the only thought is feel,
the only moment, now.
Middle years try to forget, deny,
but yet it’s there, pushed back in mind,
and not for newer loves to find.
While life is full and partners pull
the mind and heart to present day,
the first love hides away.
Young love devours the dreaming hours
of old men as they wait to die
in ivory towers of lonely rooms.
Dependent on their inner eye,
they sip and slip, with sweet regret,
To thoughts of lips that linger yet.
Soft memories dance, entrance and pull
to thoughts of sweet young bosoms full
of life and love and clinging need
for chance to shed the urgent greed
of bodies sighing to contain
hot feelings playing life’s refrain.
The old man, with his outward calm
and even breath and dust-dry palms,
belies the storm of lusty thought
that holds him caught, like headlights bright
can trap a rabbit in the night.
And who would grudge this sad delight?
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