But who are you to me or I to you?
We didn't know each other half a year;
It was only business, nothing more ado,
And barely business friends were we, it's clear;
You merely drove me home conveniently,
A simple act of friendship, nothing more,
A mere two automata acting free,
But why, then, are our hearts still aching sore?
Because, my love, you cut my heart and soul,
With words of love, you never knew you said;
And I in poems your virtues did extol,
To show you your true goodness, as you read;
Pretend you do not love nor know me still,
I loved you then, and now, and always will.
John Justice, 2015