Conceit

By
You’re just a genius
I don’t understand
Why I didn’t fall even more
For you with all
The whimsical fantasies
You had floating in my head.
I’ve tried to be serious,
But the ribbons have come undone.
I don’t believe in the
Rustic interruptions of you and me
As we sit and speak
Gallons a minute.
You’re the one the tiny gods play for
With their tiny violins
And baby xylophones.
All these tiny gods make music
To make you dance,
But do you dance as their music trips
Playfully along
Or do you sit back and take it all in,
Hands up and behind your head,
Feet on the desk you lounge behind
You don’t seem gleeful;
You just seem arrogant.





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