taking offence

at the casual courtesies

of friendship

then you

turn about

and gallantly

hand me off the bus

like my shoes

were shod with Cinderella's

glass

I like it

but cannot understand

how your umbrella

appears

magically over my head

every time it rains

it does not flow

smoothly

with the casually cold

slap

you give me by

flirting with my rival

as you feed

my ice cream

to her

while I watch

it does not

explain

why you should complain

to me

(of all creatures)

in your letters

that you are never satisfied

with your girls

"emotionally

or intellectually"

you insist you wish

I would

conceal my love

for you

but then

you politely prod me

for being too

"good at it"

as if you wished I weren't

you are

at once

both less and more

than a friend

less comfortable

more solicitous

less kind

and more confusing

you are

without trying

to be anything

the mystery

of man

for me