This is the Hard Part

This is the part where I lost my pencil but wanted to say that you do not have to change and that in all likelihood we will be friends.

This is the part written in bold: You appall me to no damnable end.

This is the part where I know not what to think of you, what I could say to you, that isn't as outright pervish and slobbery as your manly essence, which evidently welds shut all the eyes of your heart.

This is the part where I ask you to read my poems and you do and in between every drippy line is a glowing and infernal "How could you?"

This is the part when summer explodes,

This is the part where I comment on how cold it is in here

but fail to mention that it's all your fault.