The entirety of my reaction to you is no.
Just...no.

I trip on your ditches,
your barriers turn me.

I spy the denial smile with which
you pose your lies.

You do what you do better than I do.
But it's not what I do.

You may kiss me
as often as you want,

I said, as if I figured
in your desire.

I wanted apology,
you offered autopsy.

You never asked me for poetry.
What, then, could you have wanted?