I saw you and slammed
my fists against the tabletop
because I just wanted
a moment for our glances
to meet and ricochet–
but all I got was my beer
to break the imposed
inertia of its pitcher.
And so it poured: all over
me and mocked the way
I spilled myself to you,
desperate for you to love
me back. You give a fierce
beating for a heart so weak
and it’s funny, because you
never had to raise a fist
to get me so defensive–
and it’s funny, because I had
to fight back before I realized
I will never defeat your silent
treatment, no matter
how eloquent my words.