Darling, I daily hope
to dismount this tight rope
Your short fuse is lit
a protracted habit
Whatever my approach
you lunge for the throat
Though my meanings hypothetical
the sentiment is reliable
I am not a perfect being
In stature a little green
But I try, yes I do
Yet you broke my efforts in two
Often I bury the axe
urging the mood to relax
Regrettably the handle
is found by your burning candle
On the merry-go-round we go
Tossing to and fro
Joy passes us by
Lost opportunities sigh
