Old man, you ain’t (if ever your were) test
ament to testosteronicity!
A maze of years have palsied your frame,
tattooed your face with their bitter passing,
sucked your juices near dry. Yet, your eyes
still own wonder, and seraphim sing, still,
in your smile.
Timeworn beyond rowdy indecencies,
no less ancient of years, or less weary,
I tremble from the roots at your touch
and fires long banked incinerate again
till I flame with a hungry agony.
Old man, you remain my soul’s nirvana.