Vindication.

You wouldn't admit to having changed,
havin' dejunked, your cluttered mind again.
But I became to offend, less to assume,
whilst every line played a different tune.

You slept o'er this monologue in vanishing sand,
rather than putting forth, your's trembling hand.
And such is deemed fine for we are alone except
that conversation wanes in emotional depth.

Whoever felt talk could cloy, was much wrong,
as what vanity denied was needed all along.
For blemish fed the parched earth, it did hurt,
'tis rusting literature that is since untouched.