Neglect

Perched upon the windowsill, plain in sight to see, I sat and looked out the window and past the balcony.

Parched was I of mouth and tongue that I could scarcely be, and yet I sat and beckoned him, glowing oh so pleasantly.

I curse the pane that you slid down which kept you, from I, away; oh, how I longed myself through the glass with bounty of dismay!

Yet there he sat, fat on mat, captive mind somehow shackle-free of the obligation he still has to fucking water me.