Dry

I can't write!
You're so disarming, demanding, soft and regarding to past conversations
where I did not care for colour nor depth of your eyes,
where I did not care for the willing forgiveness in your face.

I can't sing!
My words are more alarming, sparring and yours are aimless and calming
that take down my weapons with their three foreign tongues,
that take down my guards with their harmonising tune. 

I fell from your fork
and your spoon
and your pup
and your sax
and your kangaroo
and your 'Man U' wall -

You pulled
shining blades of light
from my arms
until I was sucking on my weighty wounds
that needed to be formed
in order for me
to ever be worthy
of a man
like you.