tryst

Naively selfish urge.
Duress of binge, I long to purge
your ordinary Ordinary worlds away from
my curious pout.
You wouldnt know where to begin,
how to get it all in.
And so I void your strip-ticket,
with a noble explanation that
could eat up this thin emotion,
and bench your comprehension.
It seems unfair.
It really does
that you should be let to guiltlessly long,
and I, by order of manner and morals,
should be left to feel unnaturally wrong
and obligated by some ill force to
soften the blow of this childrens book disaster.
Soften the blow?!
I dont suspect your melancholy could earth much
deeper than your inchy intellect.
And though I dont doubt that you are good,
you could never be Good God!
You could never be Who is he?
You could never make me mute, and magnificent,
and mild-mannered,
and I can never make me marginal.