Darling, my saccharine darling; the short-lived euphoria I felt when we met extruded a poem or two that weakened your knees and made you vertiginous; we spent a few days waking up together and now you are in love.
Please don’t keep on saying you love me; that poor statement is so… abused.
Oh no, you furious lady, now you say you hate me; but, hate is so… impolite.
I never said I loved you, did I?
Even if I did, my dear naivetess… if you ever dare trust a poet – do not stop reading his work.
If you paid more attention, you would have known that I left you about two poems ago, my September darling; left you for good.