IS EIGHTY-FIVE TOO LATE?Just once more, oh, let me just once more feel the rush,
the blood-flush, the flesh-blush of lust-love's first sting,
Cupid's first sin-spiced bite into Adam's apple
as cotton in the mouth mutter-mumbles
half-words with choked goat-cry stuck in the throat,
the butterfly-flutter of beat-skipping heart
as pounding pulse bounds into jungle drumming
of the animal's primal instinctual urge,
the surge of gurgle-rumblings in the belly,
turmoil churning from gut to groin and loin,
the stirring of thrust, and the cold sweat
trickling down the spine like a teasing finger,
the weak knees, the ... oh, let me fall in love again!
Falling is always new, is always a first.
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A SELF UNSHARED SHRIVELS.