You sang me sonnets.
They were riddled with
Fuck you’s and
My shameless Shakespeare.
So, Swiftly, I saddled you with dreams
Of someone else’s
You bore them all too willingly...
but not for long.
Such burdens are heavy, i know
and now I am on my knees. Alone.
From this angle you are twenty feet tall
still singing songs in rhyming couplets -
“come to me whole, or not at all” .
So I pack your poetry in pockets
Laughter still ringing in my ears
And seek to unload my weighted years
on more willing shoulders.