Confrontation
I enjoy this kind of thing, you understand.
Nothing gives me more pleasure than this.
I’m riveted! ecstatic! rolling around in orgasmic bliss!
I have truly maximized my utility.
You can’t see it? No?
Don’t you agree that I’m beaming with sudden ebullience?
Don’t you think that my complexion is providing
all of those around me with a well-spring of inspiration?
Don’t you consider me a high-value individual worthy of future contact?
Do you think I’m sexy?
No.
Don’t answer that.
Your answer is already plain as day,
or as loudly bright as the harvest moon,
if that’s your metaphor.
There’s no doubt this moment was destined.
Oh,
I don’t want to drown you in palaver or platitudes.
No doubt you’ll provide enough of them later on,
at a time more suitable, when the spotlight is no longer on me.
When it’s on you, and you can’t get away from it.
Oh, I’ll make sure of that.
But until that time, I’d just like you to see me as I am.
To understand my incredible happiness,
Is that so much to ask?