My infatuated fascination with the opposite sex began very early. There are many possible reasons for this, but I can remember even as far back as age four or five absolutely craving for the attention of a beautiful woman. If I had a class with a pretty elementary teacher, it would be impossible for me to concentrate on anything beyond fantasizing about close contact. Not “sex”, that didn’t enter into my thought process until much later, but intimacy nonetheless.

So this set the stage for a life of desire for that which cannot be realized—Or at best realized for only a brief period. For people change. No-one stays young and retains a youthful countenance and physique forever. I even find the plastic “beauty” of older women who have changed their features artificially to be utterly creepy and unsavory.

So why? It is a curse I have not found a way to lift. I would give anything to be able to just appreciate a woman’s beauty as it changes through age, seeing only with my heart. But, sadly, this has never been possible for me, however much I may hope for it. I envy those who have this ability or natural inclination. So, as I reflected on all of this, I found myself writing this poem, my 13^th villanelle.