Squalid and tired,
feeble and frail.
I’m sorry.
I really am.
But I don’t think you care, do you?
All you care about are your ephemeral friendships
your exiguous surface area
and the desire to disappear between two drops of rain.
My apologies
(or anyone else’s for that matter)
don’t make a dent in the least.
The blow of a god
shrinks instantaneously
upon caressing your aura
50 miles in circumference.
Bat your stiff eyelashes.
Stroke your layered hair.
Twist your limbs
oh so seductively
your existence teases the world.