If Gaius ever asked me what I meant
the times I said I loved him, I’d have said
it’s not the love that feels like being dead
when he’s away; I really do resent
his always blaming me for what went wrong.
I couldn’t marry some provincial boy
I used him as a pastime and a toy
and then I came to care. Each bloody song
he writes just makes me like him more.
He’s witty and a shit; my brother said
that if I liked, he’d quickly see him dead.
I didn’t even when he called me whore.
He’s not that good a lay – I love his hate.
I’ll be remembered, just because he’s great.