Rereader

Little escapes you now.

Not the serpentine plot

nor crafted veneer

of Dramatis Personae

nor Wilde-like wit

-- only a skimmer's lapses.

Forsake the cliffhanger

for the comfortable embrace

of overlearned lovers more dear

(because predicted pleasures

do not disappoint

and have a flavor of their own).

Yours is an unearned superiority.

You can linger on side streets

or return to locales once unclear

where the heroine's nemesis

-- more human in Chapter 6 --

could have in Book Y rescued her.

In this conspiracy of world,

its perfect balance

of narrator-engineer

scenes told or untold,

still-voluble hallways

and out-of-character shrieks

you two can whisper

between the lines,

linger and reappear,

persist this orbit,

negate all others

in omnipotent acts of quotation.

June 2011