Worthless

Nothing is as worthless as an old man's love,

A piece of shell unlooked for in the sand.

It is only the infant in his heart That desires the young woman's breast.

It is the child in her that recoils

From death's nearness

And the touch of flesh's decay;

But that breast will droop to suckle Death's searching lips soon enough.

We consume each other

Rather than consummate

In our greedy clinging to life's next breath.

We are no more than what we've always been: Dust, dying suns, and space.