If you love someone, set them free, we’re told.
If they come back then you’re not the villain

they claimed you were. Your: “I’m being controlled,”
seemed an odd grief, since your, “I won’t question

what you want, just use me,” started every
letter. Your mom in Tulsa said that I

was a scoundrel, making you do pervy
things in public. Perhaps. I won’t deny

that I loved your genius for not getting
caught in a world that calls what we do shame.

Yet your last words said how you loathed sexting.
Odd … but reason enough to stop this game.

Perhaps I’m bad. Perhaps you’ll learn to burn
on your terms. Either way, I won’t return.