One is Never too Old

to experience the pure bliss
of a sultry kiss. Warm wind blows her hair
in your face; your arms are wrapped tight
as a python around her waist. You taste milk

and honey from her *******. Your
chest is rising, a hot kernel in a frying pan
that in a second is about to expand. As maracas,
shake, shake. Your toes curl as if they’re striped

ribbon candy that looks as hand blown-glass
from Christmas’s past. The hairs in your ears
tickle. The sound of them rubbing together is  
loud as a train whistle. This is joy in its most simplistic

way. This is ecstasy on a rainy day. It’s
fireworks in the snow. It’s a diaphanous, crystal
maze. You’ll shiver; you’ll quake. You’ll

implode. You’ll take to the blood-orange sky
as a raptor and delve in thunderous rapture. And
as you pass out  in a luminous field you’ll smell jasmine
and sweet clover at your heels.