Ode to Thievery

Are you worthy of a sonnet, prose or poem or quotation?

Are you worthy of the words composed for lovers near and close, afar?

Are you worthy of the sentiments fashioned from my erotic longings, from my fair body glowing, from my flesh naked in the dark?

Are you worthy of this moment, of this space, of this here pity for your turn of phrase clearly wanting, your pen bone dry, your keyboard useless, rusty?

Are you worthy of the interest, of the fame, renown, the limelight, of the beam created from my pure, white-hot contempt?

Are you worthy of this carnality, this intense, soft femininity, this sensuality overwhelming, this woman unique?

Are you worthy? Are you worthy? Are you worthy?

Dear thieving, pilfering plagiarist, I fear that you are not.