You and I were. Just that. Were. Sex used to be a gift, like frankincense and myrrh. I should have known your ways, to steal what once was pure. I would die to have her once again, once again I must have her. But you have moved on, while I sit alone like the moon. You came and went faster than July after June. We were so high like noon. But were is in the past. I thought I was yours forever; I really thought we would last. Our night together was like a flame, that never burnt too fast. I treaded waters for you, and you sailed me full mast. Sex used to be a gift, a perfect celebration. Our love now seems like a waste, like a senseless masturbation.