The disease…
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
A re-write. Written in 1988. 
The disease..
(Written in 1988 in a dark tavern.)
Two strangers sat together.
Discussing things that didn’t matter.
The woman looked at the man and she told him.
I was once a beauty once and
men begged for my attention.
He whispered to her.
Beauty is one less burden.
For I can see what you really have become.
You have nothing to hide now and
you became what you truly are.
He smiled and he kissed her forehead. He told her.
Laughter and good drinks are the answers now.
She smiled and told him..
You are ugly with hate.
A sad end for a man,
who held so many dreams.
He looked into the mirror.
He saw a old and tire man and he told her.
Dreams are what the children hold on to.
It comes a time,
when you realize.
We are all greedy bastards wanting too much or
too little.
She looked away.
He tried to explain his disease isn’t so special.
It is many ways to died and
I have chosen my way to finish my journey.
She asked him to come home with her.
He thanks her for the kind offer.
Her eyes.
Full of anger for a second and
she would not except his excuse for not desiring her.
Her voice.
Changed to a softer tone,
like a Doctor finding a new disease.
She wondered how any man could not desire her?
She licked her lips and she told him.
I could teach you to hunger again?
Make you want to swim in the heat of the warm flesh.
He gave her a hug and
he whispered into her ear.
I danced in the turmoil of the flesh so often.
I don’t desire to feel the hunger to enter
into the game of the flesh anymore.
He kissed her lips and her forehead,
his hands felt the softness of red hair.
Her eyes are shining now.
Still trying to figure a way to break down
his walls of safety.
She whispered and brought him closer to her body. She told him.
I will make you yearn for me.
Men are but fool’s wanting for a purpose.
He smiled and he told her. In time we all become the master or the slave.
Looking for someone to pray to or become the servant.
A screw-up game of give just enough.
Love has become the most worthless of the four letters words.
She asked him to go home with her again..
He lifted his drink to her.
Told her. You are still young and may have a chance?
Honey, walk away from this bar.
Only the walking dead are waiting for death.
Are here.
She kissed his face many times.
Young woman with so many scars and
she whispered. I love you old Poet, my kind friend.
He watched her walk away and
he does a silence prayer.
He prayed for her to be Okay.
Don’t end up twisted up and have no place to be,
but the darkness and loneliness of bars and taverns.
Coyote
1988