an
æsthetic

and my anaesthetist
the creep opens an account

the science of how things are unknown via the senses
being dead I have no need for hands

and an
æstheticist

might have snatched them
I am halving fun in order to double my pleasure

in an amphitheatre to keep it surgical
nor a wristwatch and anaesthetized sis it's

it's my elbow anyway and it isn't numb
the anesthesiologist

the creep coming with a compound narcotic hiss
not to kill but only to deaden

being dead says
I have no need for hands

by accident he
the anæstheticist doesn't remember

having grabbed at a ratchet and anyway it
dismemberment isn't his job