The Aging Satyr

I haven't posted anything here in some time. I am posting my latest poem. I would appreciate any response, suggestions, etc. I'll be interested in what people say.

The Aging Satyr

The image in the mirror contemplates

the kindly eyes, serene benignant smile.

The physiognomy reflects a mind

controlled by thoughtful structured intellect.

Behind the careful civilized façade

an alter ego lurks with leering eyes.

The satyr’s nostrils flare, inhale,

entranced by  wafts

of flowers’ fertile musk.

The pendulous flesh of fruit

that droops from languid vines

delights the lolling tongue.

The slurps of heady wine,

 juice of rounded ruby grapes,

               intoxicate and slake his burning thirst.

Nymphs frolic, innocent,

                              curved limbs of porcelain

flow to the flute’s enchanting call

               like Krishna’s milkmaids dancing.

The satyr leers and smiles

               at plies and pirouettes,

the flash of nubile flesh.

Their impromptu choreography

arouses memories

of lust

more ember heat than flame.

The dancing done, the graceful nymphs depart

like fading notes of music on the breeze.

The wistful wanton satyr sighs and turns

to the restraints of intellect that bind.

Perhaps constraints of thought that form the walls

of his confinement, shelter more than jail,

the consolation of philosophy.

As aging soothes the itch along the nerves

and appetites become a memory,

contentment’s mellow solace may replace

the rage of lust, voracity of flesh.

The satyr gazes out from smiling eyes:

the longing smolders, bittersweet, within.

Robert C. Covel

15 October 2012