Seven Days, Seven Dates

Met a guy on Monday, said he liked to cook. Turned out homemade

pasta meant microwave and luck. Talked about his ex from the starter to dessert.

I left with indigestion and emotional dirt. Seven days, seven dates,

seven shades a mistake. I keep on trying but my picker's fake.

They look like charm but they talk like ache. Seven days, seven dates,

how much heartbreak can I take? Tuesday’s man was a fitness freak. Talked about his

abs every time he'd speak. Asked if I tracked my macros too.

I said, "I track red wine. How about you?" Maybe I'm picky,