Nighttime erection data from my 19-
year-old son, and me; his duration
is slightly more than mine, an inspiration
for all those fading fathers who have seen
a belly’s shadow where there once was ween
and who, in some strange Freudian equation
have felt their heartstrings trill toward a relation,
incestuous and weird as Cymbeline.
Immortal pharaohs wed their sisters; we
lie nude, but still apart, in biopods,
like early sitcom couples in their lonely twins,
unsexiest of all perversity,
undead as vampires, infinite as gods.
We mostly want to wear each other’s skin.