Catenation

Your eyes peep into chapters
of my opuscule
with incessant questioning.
I enjoy the interrogation.
Someone is interested, I tell myself.

Evading the uncomfortable fits
into form for inveterate personages.
It hasn’t been a noisy commute.
I choose quiet corners. In quiescence,
the illusionist renews himself.

Ploys of an archimage aren’t for adults.