I have received what you’ve offered in the silence you’ve imposed. I haven’t sought to fight it, but presumption is not nearly as flattering as the flush at her neck. It’s hard to feel abandoned when I know you’re there. And to simply hold something doesn’t mean to own it, if your hands could reach so far.

Don’t imagine for a moment that I haven’t enjoyed it. But I’m playful and I’m young and I don’t buckle under the first pair of hands to come out of the darkness and grasp. You’re not reaching blindly, but you haven’t quite tugged me to my knees. I’m sure you can feel yourself grazing something, but what was that story about the blind men groping at the basket, the mortar, the pillar? (You know, the allegorical elephant in the room.)

I know, I know, more wordplay. But it’s all the play you’re going to get. And who doesn’t like a fair game?