Adored

My credentials were impeccable
At least on paper, if not in the flesh
Your papers were forged
But I didn’t mind
You brought me more pleasure
Than a thousand dead poets
“The only good poet is a dead poet.”
Isn’t that what you said?
Imposters pout and posture
Across the page
With borrowed icons
And stolen voices
Genius lays face down in the gutter
Death is the final measure
Of its dedication to the craft
But not for me darlin’
I want to be adored, at least once
However briefly
And in this life, not the next
.