Promethean Affection

Prometheus

I’m not in love with you,
Just the idea of you;
And I posit every time you look at me
There are daggers sheathed behind those eyes,
Waiting to pierce with calumny and spite.

So I’ll do what I always do:
Antagonize you;
Treat you with malice and ice,
And watch that sweet physiognomy
Fade to a consternated cry.

Then I’ll fly to your rescue
Feigning a chivalrous veneer,
And as insecurity rues the nobility,
Rendering a fine rupture in sanity,
I’ll silently mutter as I pass by,
Swearing to myself again and again:
I’m not in love with you,
Just the idea of you.

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