I can still see

[saw]

what's wrong with looking ?
young women walk by in halter tops
tight leather skirts, tattoos peaking
out from the vast real estate
of exposed skin, my old eyes
gaze into the endless valley
knowing if polite society knew
my thoughts they would call me names
pervert ! lecher ! dirty old man !
but how can I be dirty unless sex
is dirty, should ancient hearts
stop dreaming, admiring beauty
should they act their biological age
stop thinking about their passions,
should I just forget about those
afternoons with Vicky Lee when we
both called in sick knocking over
nightstand, alarm clock crashing
to the floor proving time really can
fly, the glass lamp shade shattering,
the shards demonstrating the fragility
of light, the fallen candles igniting
the Oriental rug, the heat not as as hot
as the mattress olympics, exhausted
laughing at the damage, never dreaming
it would end

[dadio]

Fine poem & theme.