I made you no promise
There was no guarantee
I carried the flag for a day or two
Then, rapidly, became bored
Of a somewhat abstract notion
Of friendship
Or relationship
Or what you will.

Nothing is sadder than realising
That everything
Is slow-moving
Like some steamboat on an African river
(Yes, I did just read some Joseph Conrad,
How perceptive of you)
And you are slower than most:

My arrogance may know no bounds, but I must say
That what I do in a moment
Would take you a year to understand,
And my thoughts are so much higher
Than anything of which you can even dream.

I barely remember you, and the guilt I felt
After a week's ambivalence
Is little, if anything.