We’ll never know that unbelievable
head, those outstanding eyes. The trunk
stills shines, but more like a subdued candelabrum
reflecting on its own reluctant – if
staggering – power. Why else would we
be riveted to that impressive chest? Why else
notice that chuckle spread down tensing abs
to a barely-there but still productive groin?
Take that and all you’re left with is a slab
of mutilated stone – defeated, slumped – not
glistening like a predator’s subtle fur, nor
diffusing light of stars’ intensity. There’s
not a single part of it that does not
see your life. You must change.