An Oligarch in Times Square

That will I never see another face
Insufferable is a wishful dream. 
I am a pilgrim climbing up a wall. 
And you shall see me groaning. 
What is another name for limbo. 
It is like the hell to which you aspire,
An unadorned existence never focussed
On a single moaning
Entity that deserves it after all. 

Another voice that captivates desire:
It is a slur of Russian apathy
Trilling through an inexperienced mire. 
How can it be so vapid, no contrition in a
Basin of luxurious telepathy with only
Those to whom the money speaks. 
We see a vision of absurdity. 
You only knew a pseudonym to
Match a lack of curiosity and your
Raving of the antiquated movies. 
I do wonder how the actors move.  
You promised me a demonstration,
Submerged in wine and loveliness. 
I wait in humbleness.  

Can I dare to speak. 
In a room of emptied conversations and
Excuses wrought upon a party
Undeserving... 
You invite yourself to tea.
I have wrapped up all the lies
Meticulously within a dampened bag of
Rosemary and liquorice.
You can hear the kettle screech. 
I take up my perfumes, what can I devise
To treat you to a morsel bleak
And shadowed over with a loveless
Imposition of philosophy.
I leave you to your ways. 
In lust we see what time cannot betray.