Aging, Falling

A man walks into a cafe.
He’s a little drunk.
He looks to his
left,
and
falls
over an unsuspecting table
at the sight of a beautiful woman
lounging on a couch

Men fall over tables
and chairs
solid,
physical things
when they see beauty
that          ineffable,
magical thing
bees go out of their way
to seek

flowers blooming

moon
chasing
sun
in an endless circle
of illumination.

So what happens when
that reaction fades
when,
with time,
petals d
rop,
skin withers
glances start going in younger,
fuller directions?

Is what was once annoying or insulting
– in its absence –
a loss?

When fertility
wanes,
just as naturally
as the tides
obeying their lapping
rhythm

where does that energy
go?
it must go      somewhere
neither created nor destroyed

how does it
~alchemize~?

d i s s i p a t e

does the tension
s
l
a
c
k
e.              elevated wisdom?
n,
ease itself into

does one enter a zone of calm knowingness
clear-headed without the distraction
of
f  e
r   n
z i e  d hormones,
atoms aflight
burning for
something of which they have no inkling?

Or do you always miss the thrill
of walking on top of that
line?
feeling the
— tension —
the       excitement
of being wanted
the magic of instantly
knowing,
smirking,
when
the silly drunk man is
falling
over you.

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