touching an elephant in a dark room

i
am going to miss
this
old man when he’s gone
his volumes of hair
his gouty limp
his den of iniquity wreathed
with every ornament
sleeping twenty hours a day
like a slug
barely capable of managing
his secretions
his dreamy visions, his women
with their come-and-go consternations
vampire-pale, warmed
in a light pungent snake odor
this
perfect
beautiful prince
i
am going to miss this dying
old man

but not so much that i’ll
keep him
when it’s time

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

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