I've lost faith.  Consequently,
You're not who you used to be:
Coquettish coed, so close, as we
Limboed through catacombs.
Later, the Louve and the Seine,
And a spin at the top of Eifel
At night.  You were sprawled
On a sofa.  I wanted to hold you,
And, afterward, you were the woman
In shades, saying, “Please, take me
With you,” not far from McCarran,
But, now, on two kayaks below
Hoover Dam, you seem older
And distant, and I feel abandoned.
I told you, and meant it, that you
Could come swim in the pool
At the house that I've rented
Out here, in some pitiful
Neighborhood east of The Strip,
And, who knows?  You may come.
Will it make any difference?
I think that it won't.  I've lost faith.