Disingenuously Disingenuously

Obsequiousness came around to schmooze with me today.
It oozed, “pray, may I do so?” first, and thanked me too vociferously
when I said it could – trembling with more dizzy glee at prospects
of attending me than one had thought it should. It claimed

the deepest interest in my answer to the query: “how are you?” –
eyed me with a great intensity when I replied; praised me for
my taste and wit and talent for “the true;” drew a sigh at every syllable

I uttered as if each had been the tenet of a holy creed, and oh! –
agreed, agreed, agreed. It squatted, beaming, wouldn’t go. I asked it
what it wanted. It said it didn’t know. Poor obsequiousness.
Pretty pass. Disingenuously disingenuously kissing ass.

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