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.