Of sorts, a lie, unintended.
People parade the idea;
of love, and then of independence of the mind.
I find, these two can not
coexist. I love you,
but will you become what I want in a lover?
Will you sign the dotted line, and
enter into this binding?
Indulge me, and I will give you
all that I am.
I will make promises, that will
be kept if you please me.
Meet me. Need me. Feed me.
Bury all that you are.