An Observation in the Wrong Frame of Mind

It was such a delicate touch.

Barely a soft caress.

Like a lover flirting with a kiss

Softly brushing an eyelash.

           

Are you a lover?

You,

A magnificent black and tan beast,

The oil on your hide shining in the sun.

You stand larger than the shops lining the street.

Your flat nose bent down

Sniffing at something.

The not yet sun-bleached skull

Of one of your fellows

A small patch of hide

Still fastened between the horns.

Do you recognize the smell?

Is it a friend?

Or a vague memory of a friend.

Maybe it was a brother

And the smell of what's left

Of him evokes memories.

Sad and beautiful in their pain.

Or is it a stranger? Someone you never knew,

Never loved

And you are merely exploring the morbidity of your own death when

Soon

Your skull will join his in that ditch.