Why do we sit here still, with the
supposition perversing imageries that spring to mind?
You pontificate by your abstinence from speech
when you should not be reticient.
Exceedingly tautological discourses are offered
when reservations on my intellect and comprehension
arises within you. The serrated edge which you offer
with such comatosical exactness, I equipoise
out of a preminent effusion of affection.
Why isn't the edge offered to others?
Do I need to absquatulate for you to begin
the declivity that is needed to reach me?
In what manner of pensived release do I find solace?
I am cognizant that even those morsels
you feed to the social fleas that buzz around you
are perhaps aspects that are denied me.
You refer to it as a masquerade but I see the
allegorical connoctations of your frolics.
I am left lumbered with the thoughts of
the respondents' relishment.