Out of Reach

As sole purloiner of my sense of self,

You show scant interest in your precious spoils,

Instead behaving like a woodland elf

Who in a twinkling slips the serpent's coils.

Suspicion centers not on you, as thief,

But on my own naivety of thought;

In matters touching feeling and belief

Recourse to wishful thinking counts as naught.

And so I have arrived where I must be,

With clarity I see you in the end

And recognize how true you are to me -

Not criminal, but merely too kind friend.

There is no shield that can withstand the darts

Which rain from Cupid's bow to capture hearts.