Pickpocket Poem by tyrone farris

i sat talking
while she smiled
then grinned at the
comment
about her eyes
then tapped my
hand saying
stop
when i said
she reminded me
of a pink rose
stranded in a field
of green grass

inside
i'm giddy
i'm transformed
by her vibrancy
her freshness her prize
inside i'm plotting
a hustle a con
a plan to abscond
with a bit of her zest
a bit of her life
because i believe
in the mythical fountain
of youth
where an old man can
wade and be
restored