Something amused me this evening
on the flight from Salt Lake,
as I sat next to the brown-haired, 6' missionary
with a lovely smile
and she flirted
the thought occurred:
Does she know anything other than missionary position?
And do I really need another number?!
And then I realized:
I'm pretty much cured.
Or maybe,
it was the club last night
with the oodles of women
with whom there's no guilt.
Or maybe,
it was the realization
that I was looking forward
to returning
for the sake of talking
to those who still see my wonder
and I theirs.
And then another thought made me laugh aloud
in the airport
as I passed by a young couple
and they held hands
but did not smile
the thought occurred:
Thank God I am free of baggage.
I've supplemented my void of complaints with physical actions.
Skiing, snowboarding, running, vinyasa flow, cycling.
I'm a little creaky and there's more left.
I'm a bit weathered and that makes the passion burn hotter.
My physical pain is my own to have and hold, so help me God.
My smile is mine to own and shine outward for all the world to see.
My physique is mine to cherish as long as it shall last.
My peace is mine to share freely, with all the knowledge of the past.
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1 comment:
Cured is good. If you feel yourself starting to regress, repeat the following mantra: Girlfriends are expendable!
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