I have known you for so long;
you knew me through and through,
could read me like a book before I opened the page.
But you are weary now, each story takes its toll,
intuition blunted in favour of easy conversation.
You were running late, the day shading into dusk,
not minded to pick up my clues.
(Having reassured you there were no danger signs.)
I manage well these days, had only hoped for brief respite
but so, it seems, did you.
I am a master of disguise and now I fool you.