You're too sweet,
Like too much pollen weighing down the honey bee
Or the confectionaries my body has excised like demons,
Too rich and I retch;
I feel taxed just looking at you.

And your eyes shine too prettily,
--Like volcanic glass--while the men at the bar
Brag about a shiner with a swagger;
They wear wife-beaters like proud children wear scars
And you know, your eyes are too much like mirrors.

You're much too proud,
It deafens me like water in the ears.
It crushes me like water in the lungs.
I'm swept up in your current like a too far gone metaphor
And I suppose the wind sounds too much like your scream.

And your thoughts move too quickly;
Your brain is a lovely little thing running out of sight
And Beelzebub knows; he winks at me,
Slips something in your drink and says he'll help,
Says you're too much too little.

You're much too tired,
Like the world is much too the same,
Or the sky is tired of birdsong,
And mirrors of reflecting you.
And I'm much too sick of looking at you.