Covet.

'Stop cribbing', she'd then scream,
I remember now in quiet evenings.
whereas previously, we had never been,
known to spoil and leave in between.

But then, despite overcast, it sometimes
dismisses, rejects the resting rains;
therein, we bit, bat, battered and feigned,
slowly succumbing with jejune preference.

For in caving in, lies little joy at times,
as one's cajoling discounts desire's price;
thus, lust makes endearment impolite,
easy indulgence and the death of appetite.