After the women go
I so often know
The meaning of zero.
Sometimes there is pleasure
But, when they go
Often I feel zero.
Sometimes I wonder whether
They also know zero.
I avoid
The void
In nights
Of bought delights.
But, when they go
Often I know
The emptiness of zero.
An empty life for the rake, it seems.
For the rake in this poem it certainly is an empty life. Many thanks for commenting, Vivienne. Kevin
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Thank you for sharing my poem, Michael. All the best. Kevin