I like the way you warble,
Through the shower curtains in the morning,
Writhing under the cold splashes of water,
Furiously scrubbing away.
I adore your refusal to buy me trinkets,
To insist on making something,
Conjuring up strings and spools of excuses,
Prattling on about the embodiment of your essence in your makings.
I find your constant epiphanies rather bland,
Having to listen to you pine on and on about something I couldn't ever seem to grasp,
It's not that you are disinteresting,
It's just that you're, you.
I don't want anybody else,
Just one,
Of you.
Erratic Behaviour
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