In his quest for a happy heart
this would-be Casanova
is driven by the urgency of lust.

He searches for a woman
with that perfect combination
of sinew and sass,
who will say:
yes I said yes I will yes.

Cloak and dagger,
he seduces with stolen moments,
always furtive,
never knocking on the door.

In seedy rooms on quiet afternoons,
she yields to him
like cobalt blue Satsuma
bending in a breeze.

He washes her hair and nibbles her toes
and she opens slowly, unfurling
petals of blood-red roses.

Single, married, widowed or divorced,
he plucks another for conquest
as if she were a flower
in his private English garden.

After hours of intense ecstasy,
he still feels alone.

The blackness of solitude hovers in the air.