Let me be kind, not honest:
your works is beautiful.
Because you are earnest
I will glint your way
and let you pet my pretty mane
to sate your jaunty, adolescent anomalies.
Were that you were a voyeur
and I the tiny keyhole you evanesce through –
the esoteric window, with all cracks
and bubbles and paralyzed imperfections –
I myself might grow annoyed with your constant
fumbling and sweaty, mini-wheat breath,
and I might be inclined to ask:
What do you see in the room beyond?