Ruth Sabath Rosenthal


This tireless body each day grows older inside
& out, & under flesh & ribs, a cold heart abides --
a heart that beat fast in days of old when yearnings,
once fulfilled, burned holes in just about anything
humdrum & turned a world rich as any reigning queen's.
These days, fantasy fills holes in reality-starved dreams:
strong arms caress hot skin nightly, long legs, 'twixt
& twain near moist body parts, uplift to the twists
& turns of a lusty mind. & high in that vessel of delight
what's mine seeks yours, though, this particular night
in bed, ship of dreams that it is, I'm but a voyeur,
lonely in my skin and out of my mind watching others
do exactly what I want to, & I tread water till I come
to that swell in the sand riddled with gems, some
have said with authority, are worthwhile being mined. 
There, with conviction, I'll keep these loins of mine
lotioned, my musky perfume from ever wearing thin;
&, if the notion, age matters, crops up, I'll spin
that on its hollow gray-haired head, and make short-
shrift of skepticism or any schism meant to thwart
an old wedlock's strangely strong current furthering
its (proposed) re-courtship's smooth sailing.

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