At One Time

At one time
the young would smile
at you
lap you up from your
vans, scanning up to your
Aniston.
Girls would awe at your
gym form,
karaoke crooning,
and introduce you to their brother.
The boys would wave,
fan you into their
fantasy, a scented threat
that required lingering, lust.
Bartenders dived into ice,
glasses amassing,
pouring over liquors
peering as your lingerie leaks
into the sticky hardwood bar.
Oxytocin has since
diminished
LEIs and Alanna Miles,
but not your desire for
smiles and fantasy.
Heads will turn and hands will wave
as the sands of time pour in your favor.
Each turn will hold desire
to have known you
at one time.