Socrates and Alcibiades

The teacher's sinewy hand, etched from the belief in particular confidants, intrudes from the baldachin's half shadow upon the root of his manhood which throbs with the fleeting pulse of its reawakening, as it gushes into the crushed maiden below, while the lovers' faces are in disarray. A hand as that of a protective mother, who feels her young son's scrotum after suspecting foul play under the blanket. The galley proofs of the art of obedience follow this occurrence through. The teacher understands the pupil and the groan of the animal in him, yet his touch, rigidly quiet, despite the lingering practice of reassurance that it’s going to be all right, still galvanizes not his pupil's reason but its lack, where the Furies nest and are quick to whisper. There is only one good knowledge, the pupil recalls his teacher's advice, as morning demurs at the foot of the bed.