Becoming The Dirty Old Man

It seems
I'm becoming
a dirty old man

thoughts meander
to joys of the past
and unexplored journeys
that might make me blast

It seems the variety
is too much to take
from the slim to the curvy
different colors, different shapes

These tastes
they rum rampant
but there is that smile on my face,
should I invite that lonely widow
for a drink at my place?

The hunger is constant
I bet these years on my own
have encouraged this obsession
to house myself in her home

Just a touch could suffice
maybe minimal petting,
there is bliss to be found
even if there's no bedding

And now that summer
is among us
those bare legs and bare arms
fuel the greed of my interest
in mysteries that charm

Yes, this confession
puts it all the table,
I need to give some things a go
while I am still physically able

And maybe that thrill
that you know you are admired
will convince you to act
on those impulses I've fired