You out-think me, beautiful,
every time I try to surprise
with researched sentiment
compressed artfully into some poem-
the way you fact check metaphors,
(more)
the way you don't grin appropriately,
look up with questions in your eyes
until you see mine, and then
it's all an act- I welcome it
because you are trying,
because it is probably written
in code too dense,
and all the paths
lead to you, except
the karens mislead,
I don't mind
being the world's smartypants,
crapping little perfections
like a closet god, feeling it
every time you actually get it,
finally understood.
(less)