I moan even now about it, sulking as I must,

Recalling still how you, laughingly, held

From my reach my ways of happiness.

One arm, outright, palm to stall my face;

The other held away in high contempt,

Keeping all from me. Not fazed in the least


By my death-throes, you held the hostage tight,

Such height my heart had never felt. Imperilled.

As lovers too you kept this prize from me.

So I clung to you for it, found strange delight in being

Your hummingbird, brief and inconsequential,

Whispering unheard, invisible at your side:


Incorporeal, a floating colour, fleeting

Only; adjacent, defeated and polite.


For the times when it just feels unequal. Half-rhymes and a fairly relaxed rhythm, but still suitably restricted in form. 



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