For the adored,
mine is its own fanged mutiny, expectant
like age.
Yours, a venerated mandate unacquainted
with its sway.
Mine wakes -- the tardy bird.
Yours reclines -- maharajah.
As in war,
mine plays the flag-bearer -- hapless
contender.
Yours seizes, more like Caesar.
Fashioned so
mine borders a fool -- gambling without
the Devil.
Yours, a philosopher -- circumspect
practitioner.
That is to say,
mine is a monologue awaiting echoes.
Yours: mouth to mouth.