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.