POLITENESS

You are not funny and, therefore, unknowingly push an artless politeness: a combo that dries me, that self-proclaimed poetic search, an evangelical sensitivity maintained to anticipate. There is no co-existence imbued with no resistance, when nothing is deployed. You need an underscoring of something —  stop the sanctifying when I clearly need an embraced exegesis. Declare an unprecedented eclipse to anything or derive a perspective as to why I correspond to stick to this broken assimilation. We share no astuteness: the terrain does not elevate, but maybe I can read you as the funny one, supplanted by an obligatory smile that reads as no more than a fashion prefix. I exclusively take a zone to resist transposing the explicit consequence when my ambivalence, unclaimed and unconnected, remains vigilantly unmediated.