April 22, 2012

Old Man

His hands on me
were, undeniably,
an old man's hands.

Curious to see that difference,
his hands and my body.
I never thought of my body
as young before.

How old are you? he asked
again. I think he liked the answer
and hated himself liking it.

Well, he'd been kissing
as long as I'd been walking,
so I didn't complain.

And he'd been lying
longer than I'd been talking.
Just one more thing you had on me,
old man.

No comments: