Not if you crawled from there
to here, you hear?
Not if you begged me, on your
bleeding knees.
Not if you lay exhausted at
my door,
and pleaded with me for a
chance.
Not if you wept (am I making
this clear?)
or found a thousand different
words for 'Please',
ten thousand for 'I’m sorry';
I’d ignore
you so sublimely; every new
advance
would meet with such complete
indifference.
Not if you promised me
fidelity.
Not if you meant it. What
impertinence,
then, is this voice that
murmurs, 'What if he
didn’t? That isn’t his line
of attack.
What if he simply grinned,
and said, I’m back?'
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