Sometimes I ponder to think of what could have become
a surly mate such as yourself.
You never are knocked down to an orange rind
and you never lick the crumbs from someone's mess.
I respect you most endearingly to endure the shoveled mass
of unsolved mystery love propaganda...
however, do not detest for what I am about to do.
My actions may not have an answer to a question of, "Why?"
I cannot talk about it
it gets complex and becomes meaningless.
Incongruencies exclaim the partridge I have not claimed
and it still sits patiently on a bough in the pear tree.
It is not christmas yet, I did not receive my present.
Time for blossoms to bloom
and rose petals to swallow.
Impassionate crimes of lusty gloomy meadows
of creaking tower of crumbling fate.
The rubble and shrapnel makes sense now
because those are the pieces you used to create a web
and built magnificent structures to hibernate.
Call me for a date and we will negotiate obsolete fashions in taste
of the polar bears on thin ice
and the decline of duck enthusiasts!