His love was great—but I always hated that word.
Word associations are true, though they seem absurd.
The expression “great with child,” disgusted me;
I hated the word, “great;” men were obsessed with it especially;
“I’m great,” or “that’s great”—and I would roll my eyes.
I learned eventually everything great was everything that lies.
He did love me, and I found him difficult to resist;
He had such beautiful hands, and I never saw him make a fist;
He would have died for me, though melody and poetry
And beauty made him die.
I worked at loving, but he didn’t have to try.
His love was great. And that’s when I realized the lie.
He was gallant and romantic and tall.
But he loved me too much. So I chose not to love him at all.