Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.
Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.
He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories