The serif in the “t” is a slide,
in the loop of a “g” a good place to hide,
and the swash of an “R” I will ride.
The arm of an “E”
is more than enough beauty for me.
Shooting the dot of an “i” through the lobe of the “p”…
Only to find
myself still sitting on my behind
wringing dry a glass of wine.
After all this time
your meaning, dear poet, is lost on me.
All I see
is the typeset perfection and the negative in the eye of the “e”.