Women With Flesh

In heat of sweaty nights,

and a rumbling stomach of lust filled gazes,

Dontae chased skirts and tasted forbidden apples.

A young man chasing shadows

across dimly lit bars,

and motel floors

The flesh craves the flesh

and the nights are a haze

of sighs and moans

Bodies entwined like yarn and vines in the dark

And the women weep tears that fall on a bed none of them will stay long enough to see

dry

But Dontae grows weary 

And the flesh tires

The years pile like dirty laundry in a corner

Dontae no longer young, finds the pursuit of flesh an empty hollow game

The women still come and go

Leaving behind red laced panties

But their touch no longer ignites the fire he once had

The bars grow darker and the motels more sordid

And he wonders if there was ever a time where love was more than 20 minutes

between sweat soaked sheets and temporary pleasure.