An Overabundance of Complacency

“She needs someone to inspire her.”
I had a Muse but he faded from me
how ghosts or lovers often do.

Patronage acquires autonomy and ingenuity, and I despair
the loss of works that loyalty will purchase.

Prosaic and dull.

“She needs someone to desire her.”
Our hands entwined as we walk, your ramblings
disengage me. I drift in the breeze.

I wonder at the mechanics of your lips, the mechanics of your speech –
How each kiss and each sentence are identical to the ones before.

Rote, rote, rot.

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