you art a scholar, horatio, speak to it

You say you walk and sew alone?

I walk and sew alone.

You say you gape and waver?

I am mostly dizzy, most open-mouthed.

You say you taste it with each dish?

I drink it and I spit it up.

You say it lays you face-down?

I kiss the dirt.

Carved into your bone china?

Mine's more fine.

Folded into your laundry?

Dry. Dry. Dry.

Is it quite awful and unbearable?

Quite.

Is it sweet and gentle?

Most sweet, most gentle.

Does it make you retch?

I am wretched.

Do you write it poems?

I compose on it daily.

Is it epic?

In thought and in treatment.

Do you cry upon it?

It is flat and wet.

Will you humor it?

Forever.

Will you forsake it?

Never.

You say you keep it in a box?

I've Cornelled mine.

You say you call it soft names?

I call it softly. I name it.

Clipped of fledge?

Clipped of fledge.

You say it sits up on your soul?

It has it licked.

A new religion?

Nay, a faith.

Do you take it to bed?

I've pillowed and I've laid with it.

Does it propagate?

I sharpen my chastity upon it.

I belt it. I go down on it.

I keep it down.

Have you done your best to bury it?

I have dug.

With half a heart?

With dull spade, yea, half-heartedly.

Has it a sword?

A long-tailed lion on its crest.

Would you unknow it?

I've called it bastard.

Bastard!

Would you divorce it?

Untie it, would you?

Have you

Done with it?

No. I will have more.