Why do some men remember me?

It is freakish, it is

strange
It is alarming, sometimes charming
It is a lottery, a game of chance
And sometimes depressing

I often want to forget
But not to be forgotten
To be thought of fondly
And not to be rotten

I want to excite
In fantasies and dreams
To warm ageing minds
And lift dormant cocks

I want to be on your lips
And on your tongue
I want to be whispered
And to know it was fun

Because that makes it so much better