He calls u babe

u write Him a sonnet

He says He loves it

wants to frame it

can't top it

u think:

He's right

but

He could have lied

say  He would try

but

instead He leaves u

to lie lone loftily thrown across the

width of ur bed

horizontally.

while He takes a lunch break

u grab on, 

dents in ur head and

faults,

in ur reason.