a.d. winans | wind on his wings


sitting here
at Martha’s Coffee Shop
my eyes lock in

on a petite young woman

with a body only the young possess

my mind on fire

with lost adonis visions

my body bartering for time
she seemingly unaware

of my eyes undressing her

she oozing sex

me an old man with groaning limbs

a once proud hawk turned

into a buzzard groveling

for road kill

she with near perfection

picks up her cell phone

speaks in an angel’s voice

a smile on her lips

my imagination undressing her

tasting the rose between

her legs

the warmth of flesh

the warmth of youth surrenders

to this old man

who becomes young in mind

the rhythm in my blood

strong as a young hawk tasting

the wind on his wings

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