His brain is on fire,
crazed with desire,
craving young females
like a caribou in heat.
He flees a lonely room,
a rope around his pants,

and rushes down the street,
mad for the sweet cracks
in nubile damsels
where sunlight creeps in.

He regrets sperm
that swam away,
a loss of progeny
never meant to be.

More lonely
than everybody else,

he plunges ahead,
a bug-eyed satyr
with missing teeth,

ignorant of any etiquette,
he lusts for nymphets

who dance naked,
flailing Persian bells
and tambourines,

for a man who thinks,
he’s still seventeen.

Too bad he never heard of Rumi:

Stop seeking for love.
Find the barriers within yourself
that you have built against it.