Sonnet for the Elusive Poem

Why do you feign coyness?
I chase you, a flitting bird.
Don’t you want to be heard?
Aren’t you a little vainglorious?

My patience wanes,
as I wait for your arrival.
Distraction is your rival,
when I’m stood up by lines.

I chop garlic and onions
to forget you—I salt and stir.
You creep out of corner darkness,
a slow moving apparition.
Your fickleness becomes a blur,
I forgive and follow, dinnerless.