MY GRAY HAIR

The disc jockey played...

He vibrated sweet studio one sounds...

In that moment...

It was Jamaica I tasted...

Rocking and moving...

Eyes half closed...

The red wine made love to my saliva...

I reminisced on those that have come and gone...

The room was provocative...

Mixed cultures, Luscious lips...

Long dreadlocks, wholesome breasts...

The continual spats of flirting...

And of course the wine...

But the Drunken Master is always aware...

Rice wine was never too sweet...

To break his concentration...

To break his grip...

To break his meditation...

But all was loose for the night...

God retired for the evening...

He let me out to play...

He took rest on my behalf...

Yet together our organs sang sweet melodies...

Entertaining thoughts of cigars...

And seersucker suits...

I stand to watch my horse cross the finish line...

In my immutable seat...

The body sings and dances...

It plays with precious care...

A love that no longer be defined...

Like hands on her thighs...

I stroked my gray hair...

doM