Perfect-ions

If through analysis of every word I have 

wrote,

and – through algorithmic rememorising –

the rote of repetition does take 

a highly grounded 

morality of curious kinds –

and keep this in mind: I no longer mind; in 

fact, I rather 

do feel a tad honoured and nobled –

then why do you make it so

difficult for me to

express and redress to the real

object of my love the depth and sincerity

of my feelings and dealings?

Why do you deny the game

you have played? 

Why do you see the need?

Why not read 

what about you I write now? 

Why not respond and engage, and openly

amuse, and retain 

and re-

act

and marry that beauty 

with those brains?

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