One night when we were sweaty
and exhausted
I claimed that the sun rose from your *******
and set between your legs
"You sound just like a poet," you crooned
What do you know about poetry?
"Nothing, but I know you"
You don't know me for ****. No one knows
each other.
Just what they're allowed to see. I could
write you
a sonnet
beautiful and verbose
and still hate every fiber of you
"And I could hate you
and your talking,
but ******* every night"

Fair enough, i thought.
You could.