This is the poem

This is the poem that made you lachrymose

in the house that you built on perfidious pride

that dissembled your inveterate lie

because you’re inimical by nature

because you’re obdurate by choice

And when your lies get too abstruse

I’ll feel listlessness for you

this is the poem that made me cry

in the house now quiescent without you

that propitiated just to abjure you