Past Lives

And here we are again. Of course I set
my sights too high. A little moderation
might not have gone amiss. I paid the debt
of humble pie, endured your fine oration,
the flowery words of callous condemnation.
So brave, m'lud, it hurts to see you now
reduced to begging for your 'small libation'.
Forgive me if it's rather hard to bow.

And this familiar face? But when we met
before, it was a different situation
(as you'd have said). Perhaps you can forget
the way you used to crow about your station
in life, how you were due our veneration.
Untouchable, they dubbed me. You, a cow,
were sacred. Well, Big Mac, commiserations.
Forgive me if it's rather hard to bow.

And now, my loveliest, my little pet -
do you recall, before your consummation,
courtesy of His Excellency, (et
tu, pretty, I remarked) your observation
that, were I not a eunuch, all creation
(you meant the female half, this we'll allow)
would die for me? I'm ready and impatient.
Forgive me if it's rather hard. To bow,

my friends, to anyone is a negation
of common sense - the what, the when, the how
of who we are is idle speculation.
Forgive me if it's rather hard to bow.

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