Twenty-One
By johnqpublic
I am too old to kneel before a goddess in blue jeans She sees me as kind & sweet & cuddly; I see her as the dream I missed when I was young (& full of promise, like she is now) I see her, in my internal eye weeping over my poems about her never knowing I say only half of what I feel- The trembling adulation (heavily laced with sweaty lust) she inspires in me would disgust and frighten her, I am sure, and I keep some thoughts about her safely hidden (& yet, at times, a hint sneaks out, she responds with a nervous smile, her dignity intact, mine forever shredded) I marvel at her grace & wisdom & the way she looks in a tight black skirt (um, yes, when I visit her campus, I must be careful with my hungry eyes) Sitting with her, over coffee I feel a comfort that only her presence gives me but even then, my heart faces a nagging question where was she when I was twenty-one? Written December 4th, 2001 © on Dec 04 2001 01:55 AM PST 0 • 10
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"I am too old..."