Losing Things

Losing Things

Remember how our bodies once were thin
reminders of our later flaccid skin,
my paunch cupped in your lovely lap.
Our liver spots co-mingle, creating
a small universe of moons setting
where the bed's edge collapses in shadow.
A perfumed candle illuminates
our illusion of youthful coupling,
your taut breast, now a pachyderm,
offered gladly to my unfilled mouth.
And now we find that losing things
rarely causes any pain,
for what we've also lost, along with youth,
is the need to, every time, succeed.
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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