series1bk3.2.2

 

I stand bemused, having licked my wounded love on a lunar pinacle, watching you spin giddily in the middle distance, romping with sophisticates, and stomping as an unpromising pupil in their dance. With chances meagre as a drone's, I thrust my artless heart as a gift offering - proffered in fumbling fingers - dangling dingey and unobserved, absurdly neglected on the fringe of your heaped toys. The noise of your silly suitors sinks my pride, as they ride a tide which floats them freely to the golden goal of your regard - whilst I, distinctive in a pink puppy's attire, tire of comparison.      But can't you see, (or is it that you're blind?)      that they are species of a different kind?