there is a photograph of Carrie
wearing a white thong bikini
that barely covers a body
molded by the gods & fine tuned
by the devil.
when I look at the photograph on a good day
I want to untie the strings of her bikini
with my teeth & let it drop to her feet
& spoil her by pleasing her as I know I can
like no man or woman before me or those
who might follow me could ever do.
& that is not bragging but confidence
because I have (if nothing else)
proven I am good in bed.
but if I look at that photograph on a bad day
which outnumber the good days of late
I know she is not a woman who would be attracted
to an older man
especially a beat-up, worn out 1% biker/poet like me
& though I am thankful for those who are
I am tired of one night stands & brainless conversations
after we are finished sexually.
those are the days, the bad days
when I realize my nights are only going
to get longer & lonelier & as sleep eludes me
I will wonder where the summer days of my youth
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The Last Days of Los Angeles # 14:
by Luis Rivas
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