How many times
Do I have to tell you?

Angry
His eyes black
Like the ocean
Turned into ink

Words
Low
And measured
The type of tone
That makes me want to run

You are mine

You are wrong

Pale blue
Like the rain
In spring

Words
Soft
And low
Shakespeare
Says
It's an excellent thing
In a woman

I wish
Everyday
That he wasn't wrong
But he is
And so are you

I love you too much
To be yours