It’s true, years pass—you lose a step or three.
Colors in the mirror turn from gold to gray.
Places where you used to go never seem to stay,
empty spaces laying where they used to be.
Yet you’re not quite so aged as the oldest tree—
passing perfume’s scent still makes your senses drown
nothing’s quite so lava hot as a low-cut gown,
except the throaty moan of passion breaking free.
Jagger’s prancing on the stage—sweaty, hot and open.
After show he claps his hands outside the exit door
Soon careless breasts and female flesh cover him entire.
He knows he’s just another check on some goupies score.
And you say you wouldn’t want that life. Liar. Liar. Liar.
AJ Hayes lives in Southern California and admires the citizens of that particular patch of crazy a lot. They are a never ending source of WTF! Fiction is an art that puzzles him but – against the advice of friends and family – he keeps tryin’.
AJ’s stories and poems have appeared in A Twist of Noir, Yellow Mama and Muse, Title Fights, Acorn Review, Flashshot, The Hard Nosed Sleuth, Shotgun Honey, Apollo’s Lyre and Black Heart Magazine’s Noir Issue.