Flattered

A young, thinner, simpler
me mistook infatuation
for something quite different.
An inexperienced boy
drowning in consummation
of passions barely understood.

Oh so flattered to be wanted
in that particular way.
Oh so blinded and completely
deaf to what she had to say.

Now older, fatter, bitter,
I mistake consideration
for something more obvious;
my age’s much vaunted
wisdom is just replacement
for wistful thinking that we could

still be flattered or be wanted
in any physical way;
still reminded by missing beats in
sluggish hearts of slowly setting clay.