Aphrodite Incarnate

Aphrodite Incarnate

    My meal ticket is plucked by Jade, a woman whom I’ve known since the Bronze Age when I could barely restrain myself from exposing my lechery. But my vintage libido needs an Orgasmitron. Yet still I gaze with Paleolithic wonder at this Venus in skin tight jean shorts whose figure is more mathematically perfect than Pythagorean Theorem.
    Jade’s cousin enters the picture and embraces me like an old friend. But my near fifty dementia doesn’t register a clue as to her identity. But she just gave birth making my dream girl, Jade, an aunt so she surmises. I gaze at her lovely face like an Alzheimer patient.
    “I never forget anyone” Jade’s cuz proclaims. My words tangle like brambles in a neglected corner of memory. I retreat to my table.  
    My faded jean waitress angel, Jade, floats in fairy queen elegance. Her every curve is a maiden melody. My princess hovers in heavenly heat.  She places culinary offerings sweet as love on my table. She sashays with denim charisma. My winged beauty halts in mid prance. Jade sings of desire for Florida beaches.
    My hungry ears eavesdrop on her. Jade tells a customer of her male tattoo artist who felt uncomfortable illustrating her in taboo territory he dared not trespass. “So unlike a man” Jade sighs. She whispers wonder at his trepidation to roam freely in her fields of plenty.