I do not, amongst the dregs of my cups,
Consider you worthy to be the theme
For my untutored scribblings.
There, Madame, there: I put you
In your place, amongst the detritus
Of my life, the forgotten effigies of life,
As she should be lived.
Yet, you do not acquiesce to my intentions,
And re-emerge into my consciousness
To disturb and argue for attention and
I am weak, and accede to your importuning
With versification to placate your demands,
To show my love.