Chipping At The Persona

I found a critic among the ranks,
jabbing at the impotence
in wise ridicule.

She knows the limits of man
and targets the erotica
shattering the myths
of an old stallion
at the ready
to inject a barb
and revoke
these whimsical illusions
that I could command any skill
In the sensual domains.

I've never hid my sensitivities
and I will admit to a deterioration.

This mind seems capable of so much,
but the neglected body
of an annual birthday romp
does little to condition
that physical presence.

I would gladly be a disciple of Tantra,
but these impatient times
don't jive with the slow movement.

Not quite certain what invited
the need to dwell on the inadequacies
of the Tenderloin,
but I can spin this into a flirtation
and confess an honour
in getting whipped.