Again
she has her fill
then only leaves
me
now cold
used
amid the other chipped souls
in wait of her next pleasure

Once
a chosen favourite
long ago
time
now crazed
my insides
stained
weak
a withering
I am no cosy

She wipes wet lips
fanning
with rooibos
over silken forearm
We blend
She devours my very reason
There is no tomorrow
No taste nor savour
She takes me again and again
And yet
her touch is gentle
re strained
a much practised ceremony

Just as always
I alight
and warm for her
She steeps
my flush
in exotic desire
wrapping strong afflatus fingers
tight
around my aging girth
I am drawn to her
This woman
for whom I spill
again…