If you ask me,
there is a damn good chance that I will answer.
So, knowing that,
and knowing my personal concomitant,
and without discorporate harcourt,
enshrine to me your irrespective queries upon the Hellespont.
Yes, go ahead. Yes. Head.
—I wait here.
I am waiting.
Still I wait.
(Lather. Rinse. Repeat.)
Verily, my waiting knows no bound.
I wait like the weight of somnabulant sturgeons
gouging the intrepid piscene,
denizens of this peppermint operating table.
And yet, in lieu of this,
I wait anon.
He, she, or it waits.
It waits not.
It never waits.
Only I and thee.