I am consumed by fiscal passion
when I gaze upon your wrinkles.
I lust for your high-waisted fashions,
and your enlarged prostate tinkles.
The familiar bulge in your slacks:
a wallet of Visa and Amex Gold.
That compensates for what your body lacks,
and my friends saying you are old.
The age difference means nothing to me,
as I have caught the curse of King Midas.
You have as many years as my father,
and you see the same doctor for arthritis.
I am a golddigger, I am with no shame.
I’m in it for the will, now it’s just a waiting game.
The Lighter Side of the Moon 