When you were young, I was already x.
My son is y, but you are only z.
You glow in tones designed to charm and vex
Our pants off. As mine are. Here. Now. My bed.
What does that make me? One decrepit drooler,
A humbert in his head? You are a bird
Of paradise. Our years, marked like a ruler,
Measure me for subtraction. Word by wordplay
I find me wanting. Wanting you, but wanting
Not to be young again. To have to be
Feathered like you. A tit. I should be planting
Saplings, so someone else can have a tree.
It is raining. It is raining. I'm relieved
In what we are not doing. In the night
Paradise is a roost. I am deceived
Because you are not here. Take heed. Take flight.
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