It was Friday night.

3rd day of July,

Twenty hundred o’ nine…

A confession entwine

Text messages over flew

Arid source of curfew

Seemed to be vivid dew

Feel of elegant new

No response of snobbish slays

Got sick for couple of days

Miss the usual smile of lace

Hope to forgive pathetic maze

Then get back to work

Not as close friends of cork

No words, no laughs of scorch

Touch is wistful winning torch

Never loved back as expected

Still, blessed to be accepted

My love is a close friend I tempted

Now, a memory that was corrupted

Believe me, I’m happily content

Too much hurt is relief by extent

Forever cursed by love’s dreadful tent

Meet my love is a lifetime intent