A Flighty Lover

Must you flirt with me so?
Diverting from the threshold of my room,
Flirting through the shadows,
Skirting round the edges of my waxing moon,
Naught but your crown, your eyes, your nose alight
With reflections from my eyes.

Frankly, I thought it indecent of you.
Leading me on through brush and bramble,
Brutal and brooding cityscapes,
Bringing me through briny waters,
You, as if along a twilit beach, with stars like pinpricks,
Yet I, as if across a morass, a no man’s land.

Indeed, such a land had I resigned myself to.
Cutting out of my sight any particularly chiseled features,
Shutting out the chilled, overcast light of day,
Putting out of mind the lessons of my teachers
That a shut-in’s life would ensure
A shutdowned mind and a downturned mouth.

I digress.
I think it not abnormal, nor outrageous that I should be thus outraged.
You profess devotion, then flit away as flighty as a flivver.
Fittingly, then, I mean to scorch your crown, your eyes, your nose,
(Should you continue to evade my attentions)
Lest they remain fixed to the edge of my moon, so sullied by these.
O ‘tis the curse in love of knowledge:
That an idea, of my own genius,
Should be such a flirting, flighty lover.


[INTENDED STYLE: Jane Austen and Shakespeare’s child.]


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