His love had blind tendrils, each had many suckers. She pressed autumn leaves into a shoe box with scraps of erotica. She tucked damp poetry away for later. He came with chocolates and a high-minded lust. Eventually the tendrils of his love became less blind, they saw things he did not like, and she did not appreciate the sucking noise his mind made when he said:- I love you, however, he did bring good chocolates, he did wash regularly, but in the end she just felt dirty.