On Perspicuity

Almost true:

Blasphemy

—you

A flimsy promise 

I suspect it was known, that

your plan was homegrown

And

I, a nescient botanist

archetypal fool

You convinced me to campaign

For a weed,
as if, 
perchance, 
it were a flower.

Illusion of ardor 

Hooked to the bait

I did not know that 

Intrigue is everything,

only when it has nothing to hide.

Veneers are like shams that lie on sofa beds

to hide our seminal stains. 

They are not pleasurably mysterious 

like curtains that open to a frank world,

eager for breathtaking. 

Thank you for exfoliating

my naiveté:

I was mistaken, I

Confused inscrutability with challenge.

Even so, 

it is a new age now:

“l’amour nouveau”

We are patrons of candidness. It

flows uninhibitedly, just as natures do.

Yes,

Mountains are proudly scaled by those who

saw their preeminent peaks

Long before 

trading in for better shoes.