NEW POEM

TIME WORN

I sometimes think that I am done with lust
or lust is done with me. If she should tweak
my nipple, I would bruise there for a week.
My cunt is old, tight scarred and full of dust

that once would flow. And there's a small red sore
recurs and itches in my stomach fold.
I use a cream on it. I am so old
that I need help when rising from the floor

and when I dance, I crumple at one knee,
But have the poet's privilege. I get
teasing from muses for a decade yet.
I am not done with them, nor they with me.

I see sweet mischief settled in her eyes
Dashes in bars, wraps legs around my thighs.