Loathe poems

I need to decorate a little box with broken hearts and wilted flowers, a special place for the poetry my man and I have been writing to each other. Here is the first one I wrote for him:

How do I loathe thee?

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways
I loathe thee to the depth and breadth and height
My heart can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Fury and ideal might,
I loathe thee to the level of everynight's
Most urgent need, by dark and candle light.

I loathe thee freely, as men strive for Praise;
I loathe thee purely, as they turn from Truth.
I loathe thee with the passion put to use
In my old life, and with my simplistic faith.

I loathe thee with a hate I seemed to gain
With my new god,-I loathe thee with the breath,
pain, tears, of all my life!-and, if Luck deals poorly,
I shall but loathe thee further after death.

He returned the sentiment with a little something of his own:

Untitled

How do I loathe thee?
I just cannot count.
The ways are too great
I cannot surmount.

Each day that I live
I wish I would die
I loathe thee so much
Now I'll explain why

It's that thing that you do
And that thing that you don't
I wish it would stop
But I know that it won't

Its the sound of your voice
And the things that you say
I pray nightly to Mortis
"Please take me away!"

Your hair is so vile
You look like a rat
Your boobs are lopsided
Your butt is too flat

You smell like the dump
But look half as good
Someone should kill you
Oh really, they should

The beggars you pass by
They give coin to you
"Please take my last slag
It's the least I can do"

What's up with your nose?
It looks like a tumor
Yet it has more appeal
That your sad sense of humour

We went the circus
And much to my woe
They thought that you
Had escaped from the show

And talk about dumb
I thought you a fighter
Forget oral sex
Rumour says you're a biter

There's a few reasons
I have millions more
But you just are not worth it
You two-timing whore

*SIGH*  Now I know I am completely hated. My work is complete.