He told me that I had never loved him. He who was once my lover for whom I begged and crawled, down on my knees. I was puzzled at first. I used to cook romantic dinners for him with whipped cream over fresh strawberries at candlelight. I read Plato (complete and unabridged)because he told me to (read it). I dreamt him with such intensity that I compelled his materialization in front of me.
When I visit, you always remember to ask charmingly if I would like a glass of juice or something else. Since you are sick in bed, I have to go down to your kitchen and serve myself. And by the time I reach your room’s door I always remember to turn and ask if you'd like something from the kitchen too.
He was right.
However, you are not my lover.
More opposites at readwritepoem #77