Poetry
The Last Hours of Prince Illyricus
Ron Bayes
Flatterers abound
& you seem oblivious
to this obviosity.
You loll on your
elbows after the bath.
The towel
Merely accentuates
your desirability.
You ask me to leave
If I cannot talk
of more pleasant things
& toss your damp curls
I tell you of my devotion
& of my fear for you
& the State.
Your eyes sadden.
The wistful smile
seems to tease, feigning sorrow.
You draw the huge towel
up (highly dramatic),
cock your head toward the door.