I wrote you a sonnet.
Some called it my best yet.
But still,
when last night’s thrill
had faded away
the next day,
instead of saying something engaging,
it seemed you were bent on raging.
“You’re emotionally driven”
was what you said,
and I could imagine eyes rolling
back in your head.
And your face turning red.
And I’ll tell you the truth (if I dare):
I wanted to disconnect right then and there.