Mid-Life by Bob Ritchie

Bob believes that every human male, from about 12-years on is a
perverted sex fiend; including himself. Bob likes to write and
compose music.

Mid-Life
by Bob Ritchie

Yesterday, I made love.

For the first time.
Listen.

The two of us,
     intentions firmly set,
Move to an area,
     solitary.
The air holds rhythms.
Two, and very distinct.
I can feel them,
     they do not beat true.
No matter, this is what
I have been hearing of
For a long while.

From very far, I see:
Two bodies languishing,
     naked and hot.
They come together,
Make tenuous contact.

As my hand touches
     warm flesh.
Psychic sparks fly.
Her nipples look at me
Saying,
Could this be right?

Grimly, we continue; I dab my fingers to her
     dewy vagina.
It seems her lips recoil.
Looking to the face before
Below me,
I see deep pupils,
     dilated;
Beads of sweat crawling through
Nervous eyebrows;
Rapid darting tongue
On too dry lips.
I see myself reflected in
The face of another
Our kisses are sand-paper.
Caresses leave a cold trail
     of fear sweat.
But still,
     we know.

The whimper of a cornered kitten
Reaches my ears,
As my first, spasmodic thrust
Meets,
     and passes,
A thin barrier.
I'm sorry
Go ahead. Don't stop now
Sorrow on sorrow.

We continue until the
Friction from
Dry on dry becomes too great.
At last I let myself
     drop in defeat,
My omnipotent penis
Shrinks,
Trying not to touch the
Walls imprisoning it.
From my throat comes a
Hollow growl of surrender,
A sigh for tomorrow.