You know that I want you. I'm sure of it.
But still the little tortures come.
Your cheshire smile glowing brightly.
Your hand holding mine to your side.
Your unbridled compliments and playful digs
Each with their subtle symptom of love.

But you don't love me. You just love being loved.
And I'm tired of writing poems about you
And screaming to the heavens that I am yours.