I don’t know
and I can’t tell,
whether you are
a muse to me
or just amuse me
acclimated to pain
or just accusing
I find the privilege,
rather abusing
you’re choosing
well within your right
but the left you are
is losing me
bruising to thee ego,
it is a pride thing,
as much as we know
but I can’t tell
can’t smell the aroma any longer
but what scent is present,
couldn’t get any stronger
a serving of plenty,
I’d rather live with hunger,
you’re too full for me
I could pretend to be satisfied,
or just wait until you empty
and stock up on groceries 
and then my simple menu
will again be tempting
or enough for a spell,
but I can’t tell.

-see

©2015 Cornelious “See” Flowers
@seethepoet