Agape's Apnea

'A boy's love burgeons from a too full heart

'A man's from having too well dined'

 Kipling's, alas!, too Indian art 

Taught me the latter was more refined.

I'm fat, fifty one, and my only son

Whose bean feast to order were day's work done

At midnight's hour, as if a promise to keep

I myself devour & can not sleep

Tossing and turning, my bed a barque

Back to Ithaca & the Sea wine-dark

Of Agape's Apnea what can I say?

My breath itself its take-away

Envoi- 

Prince! 'tis not our being fat or scant of breath

But our Holy Ghost Farther yet to Death...