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While
not much liking you I admired
how you bore what seemed unbearable pain
and kept mending the skin I tore again and
again.
My
cowardice mainly confined us to sex with each other
until, after forty, kind women came.
Forgive me for granting so little of what
you liked best
and
thanks for letting this daft pest
overwork your brain and hand, all for my glory,
then knock us out with booze, to get rest.
I
never had to care
for a servant who never complained of irregular
meals
and was always there,
and
see now, nearing our end,
you endured and allowed much more than I ever
planned,
being a friend.
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