He whispers, “I’m not sorry
For loving you this way—
Either be mine alone
Or I will kill you.”
It buzzes around me like a gadfly,
Incessantly, day after day,
This same boring argument,
Your black jealousy.
Grief smothers—but not fatally,
The wide wind dries my tears
And cheerfulness begins to soothe,
To smooth out this troubled heart.