Did You Read My Book? Poem by Morgan Michaels

Not, dear, as they say, cover to cover.
I liked the first poem, though
And the last, and lots in between
Which Fate had little choice but choose
Given my methods and the terms of the physical world:
Gravity, velocity, shift, heft, spring-
Accidents dubbed as none by the mind
And, so, suddenly fraught with meaning
Lovely to the needy ego.
You see, I keep your book on the nightstand
And, periodically elbow-dash or ankle-kick it off
So it falls sprawled face-down on the floor
Whereon I read the Fate-selected poem:
Accident dubbed none by my mind
And, so, become significant.
This, for me, no different than for many seeking purpose
And election in merest happenstance:
I tell you, I try;
BUT those I read I thought excellent-
Well-woven with matter and wit
And sequencing YOU- the unique thing your mind is.
But did I read ALL of them?
Hardly. For one thing, there's my god-awful dyslexia;
For another, my stamina for little but breathing-
Besides, it's only been weeks:
A sloth crosses a Brazilian road faster than I read things.
But, your warmth and judgment shine through-
And I will persevere- reading, that is. It's easy.
And amusing.
In such a world, we might as well laugh.
Gracious acceptance!
Is what friends are for in the big city
Who graciously allow each other that concatenation of traits,
Protective, dismissive, phlegmatic, ambitious,
And hopefully, law-abiding, known as personality,
Which we, we admire, envy not, contemn not,
And, largely immutable anyway, trust will come to good
Generously- for its interest, not its use.