I'm angry.
So be it.
Why is Spock so cross?
I'm a woman pinned
in a land of paper dolls.
He loves me for my virtue
and that keeps us
as polite as tea.
I yearn to be
stalked and ruined for
the reign-less passions,
the prurient morning stomach's growl.
I'm never not
exhausted enough to pretend;
but you take
no notice, kissing my hair
on your way to work
whistling.
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