Falstaff’s Lament || Craig Kurtz

The way it is now that I’m old, that
nonny-nonny leaves me cold; once,
heaving breasts and a plush bum
sure warmed me, but now seem
humdrum; the stockings, garters and
brassieres which animated my prime
years are all phlegmatic to my tastes
as I prefer sweet-meats to waists;
ah yes, it seems I’ve reached the state
when three-course dinners stimulate
my senses more than tight corsets
which tease contents of plump coquettes;
alas, the moment has arisen
when I’m aloof to ripe torsos
and rather feel more puissant
t’wards peacock, lobster and pheasant;
true, décolletage once hungered me,
but that’s become velleity;
my loins don’t have the ardor of
my stomach, which now knows true
love; videlicet, I’ve reached the phase
when salmon soaked in hollandaise
appeals to me more sensuous
than lapping a bawd’s clitoris;
alack, I’m more enraptured by
some mutton than a doxy’s’ thigh
so, since erections cannot last,
I’ll now debauch tonight’s repast.

This was originally published in the Spring 2018 edition of The Helix

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