i shouldn't have read it

It¡¯s strange wanting
To have pride of place
In some backlog of memory
And diary etchings
I read through hers,
And those who passed through
Wondering which, embodies me most
Another shoddy reflection.
They¡¯re etchings themselves
Confections that melt
Just vaguely nuanced
Inflections
Im infected myself
With omniscient wealth
And fall on my knees
Just retching.