Your silly safety-net.

Worshipping one another like the latent geniuses we are, a tiny culture of discreet jealousy and pettiness.  Can it be swept under the rug?  Are we man enough?  A sad, sluggish “no” marquees across the sky.  Sheepishly I slump back into a coddling love for myself that will last precisely long enough to let the gravity pass me by.  I’m going to make the trip.  I know you retain your yielding love; it might not involve the mirror image, but it certainly holds an impregnable warm logic.