That Lust May Thrive



That lust may burgeon in old age infuriates
such lumpen clods as still retain capacity
for outrage in their leaden souls.

Disgusting old farts, they label those
who stoke slow-burning fires,
deep though they glow inside their heads.

They, on the other hand, subsist on meagre fare:
soft Page Three porn, the scrapings of the pot.
One ought to pity the nincompoops

for all the stolen joys they're missing.
They'll never savour the glimpsed delights
of rounded buttocks, the hint of knicker-line,

those dolphins leaping in the blouses
of lusciously-endowed teen-totty breasting
down the High Street and creating waves

Nor will they conjure, as lusty devils do,
the recollection of a certain omphalos,
its whorl on her belly a sweet, infolded bud.




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