I see,
Newly formed breasts,
A well-developed flank,
And the deliciously plump backside.
The glow of ripening fruit.
But I mustn’t.
Distinguished gentlemen such as myself,
Mustn’t see these things.
We must play our role in the charade,
Appear blind to the allure of youth.
The absurdity of age,
Leaves you wanting when,
You’re no longer wanted.
The neighbour’s daughter,
Feels the whisper of my attention,
Dismisses it with the flick of a finger.
It’s not for me that she prances,
Although she’s accustomed to my gaze,
Just one more unwanted witness.
Dirty old man.
I admit it freely,
That I am.
Age classifies me as such,
But for the wrack of time,
A would-be admirer.
In truth,
We never stop seeing.
We live closeted,
In our forbidden sight.
God,
Strike me blind,
That would be a kindness;
Because I can’t stop seeing.
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