I thought your poem was really sweet,
but
I just don’t think of you that way.
Honestly, sometimes it’s too much:
the endless proclamations,
and the incessant compliments.
Maybe if you were more like Paul --
We got dinner the other night,
Applebees’ Ultimate Trio.
Not once did he
hold a door
or offer to pay.
He didn’t compare me
to the sun,
or the stars,
or anything else for that matter.
He just said,
“You’re fucking hot.”
So we went to his place.