Growing old

It has been four years
since I slung my old
biker jacket in the wheelie bin

It was almost as old
as some of the students
that I was mixing with

I kind of miss that
old jacket, with holes
in the pockets
and bits of god knows what

I took the patch off
and gave it to an ex
with my leather waistcoat
last I ever saw of it

my new life is not so bad
but I sure do miss
that jacket, my armour

now I am wearing lust
as a sleeve
and unprotected

its bleeding rough
without the
leather to discuss my
otherwise natural rejection

now I have nothing
to reflect my
own lust inflections

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2 thoughts on “Growing old”

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