7.2.18

Spun with swag, dearest tagalong,
your virtue comes to rest
upon the apex of its own devising.
You’re only now realizing the score,
to the chagrin of all whom you adore
with gentle lunacy. It’s time
for a more candid portrait.
What else can I impart to thee
that I haven’t already tried
without fear of success? True,
you like me less than you did a week ago,
and your shadow throws itself
against me with a degree of force
that I’d consider imprudent.
Yet I’ve not been made impotent
by your carelessness, and in fact,
am all the more invigorated.
This situation you’ve created
will permit but one of us
to leave intact.