He Was Her Boyfriend!

A conversation at the no-longer-all-gal gym:
"I'm so sad about my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend?"
"The Champ."
"Back up. Your boyfriend?"
"We dated."
"You dated Muhammed Ali?"
"For a month."
"When?"
"1967."
"Wow, honey."
"I know."
"Don't hold back. Tell. Me. Everything."
"We met through a friend. The Champ didn't drive. So I drove us around. We'd go to the beach and recite poetry to each other."
"Oh. My. God. What did you recite?"
"The Raven."
"The Raven? Not romantic, Shakespearean sonnets?"
"No. I went with Poe."
"Not 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day'?
"We were platonic."
"You might not have been if you'd recited love poems, instead of quothing the Raven nevermore."
"It was sweet."
"Sweet? How far can you get with sweet?"
"Stop."
"Unless..."
"I gotta go."
"No, wait. I get it now. You came up with the 'float like a butterfly' line, didn't you?"
"No, Carol."
"Don't be shy. Take some credit here. I can see the whole scenario. You and the Champ in the car, a butterfly floats by, you make up a poem on the spot. 'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.' Muhammed Ali looks at you and says, 'That's good. Mind if I use it?' "
"That didn't happen."
"You could've married Muhammed Ali."
"That's enough."
"You could've been one of his wives!"
"I never should've mentioned it."
"It's too late now."