A pest

My lover did not love me, that is true
He  took his own illusion  as a cue
He thought he had my measure, he was wrong
Now with Satan he   will share deep bonds

My lover needs a whore, for I’m too chaste
He never takes me past the starting gate
He does not care for me nor bring me joy
So let him pay  for her whom he employs

I   found his mind  like   cider not like wine
No substance to engross me ,naught divine
He loved James Bond ;he never read  a book
And, even worse, he did not learn to cook

Why call such man a lover   though we  jest
Such a man is  nothing but  a pest