I reek of milk and vision.
You reek of derivative verse.
You can protest, hold your nose,
But still you follow, behind.
Worry not, friend, for I have
Learned my way this past decade
While you seek yours in others' arms.
Shall I feign we are equals.

Do you require further jilting.
Shyness, that mythically
Feminine charm,
I lack completely.
Modesty, for others' sake.
Heartless, I learned too,
Evading merchant's arms.
Shall I spurn you. Again.

This is not a picture book, a
Childish exercise in
Colouring. Do you suppose I
Ink these upright, tight words,
Carefully curate a reality, to
Hand it off to lesser hands.
Please stay within the lines.
Shall I number them for you.

Perhaps you need simple
Directives, suiting your place,
Commandments to follow
Lest you lose your way
While trailing my spark.
Then come, heel.
Beg. Hush.
Good boy.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Scarlatan, in the year 867 AF.