Now I’m used up
Can I use you
Can I write all sorts of stuff
White mini-skirt
Tight around your thighs
Heels only just holding on
Flying to every party
Catching-up
On all that you thought you’d missed
Old men can’t help
But be enchanted
When you blow smoke
Right through their eyes
Those younger men
Once besotted they can’t ever let it lie
The older guys
They help with your pretending
That life’s about something more
They blow to you
They go propose to you
Supposing that nothing’s ever new
