Furious, furious at his perversity
And especially, especially indignant
That he professed
To be ignorant of my sex
I retorted in no measured tones
Besotted being!
You think yourself the perfection of existence
While you are, in reality, the most imperfect and imbecile
You profess to see, whereas you can see nothing but a point
You plume yourself on inferring the existence of a straight line
But I
I can see straight lines and infer the existence of angles
Triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, and even circles
Suffice it that I am the completion of your incomplete self
You are a line, but I am a line of lines!