You become jealous, when I tell you
my plans. I remain silent on
the meals I prepare or the bars
that I visit, and with whom.
You become angry, when I try for
romance. I become frosty in
the words I employ or the things
that I discuss; and with you
things become prickly, you bite off words
like mouthfuls of bitter fruit.
I become silent, for I cannot
say one thing that will not