I told you I was in love, then you laughed.

        I told you I was in pain, you chastised.

My heartache was genuine; your's was craft.

        My soul was open; you remain disguised. 

My poems were worthless. My songs struck no chord.

        Your eyes watched in humour and quiet ire.

My heart led astray, life without reward.

        My naive longing tossed to seething fires.

My words, my guestures, my life is a waste,

         Crumpled against your frozen heart's defence.

My lips, my touch, my soul, a foreign taste

        Without purpose, meaning or love's pretense.

How can she that feels watch this heart ablaze,

        When the flames are sole products of her gaze?