The Stoned Age

Written in a word.
Einstein’s Moon.
Towards a…
she was …
And she would last for less than a second
thought. Instead. I once smiled
and a smile was enough. As a child.
awkward was cute.
And finally I am cute again at, 65.
I was never. And never I should say again.
Lips of wine. Lips of sin. Lips of weed.
Pure. No that is not what I am saying.
Or more to the point what I am not saying.
And she understood that my eyes watched the door
constantly. And she loved me for it. Sweet Sixteen.