I over-analyze
And scatter,
Scurry-wise
While you,
Sprawled supine,
Laying sultry in the sun,
Wonder why.
Chitin dust shaking off,
Corroded synapse
Strives to find
The words to write.
"Some weighted day...
Awaited? Nay,
But often gandered at."
What I can't see,
Nor halfway say,
Is what I want to show.
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