Distracted by synthetic opiate,
my hands abuzz, my brain in cozy swirl,
I walk a focused mile and forget
to look around. Oh I’m a murky girl
today – I have too little I must do.
So I allow these visions ample stage:
I fantasize romance and so do you;
we strut our selfish aims and act no age.

We ricochet from tenderness to lust,
dysfunctioning, repeating history.
We’re sharing a subjective sum of trust,
investigating passion’s mystery
in middle age. We’re lonely, horny, sad
enough that each is yearning to be bad.