The Silent Treatment

I see the world through
salt-coated glasses
that crystalised film of our
southerly-busted days
the yellow mornings you said you loved me
the afternoons I knocked you back

The things that go on between you and I
should not be publicly revealed
nor should they be privately discussed
in any form

I need an embargo on
my heart strings being plucked
I need a moratorium on
the silent treatment
you give me in the car when
you think you know it all and
I used an evidence-based argument
to prove you don't

The world still finds itself turning
the rusted axis deep through the core
somehow still grinds through its gears

We use footnotes to explain our actions
the index to find our dreams

To be whoever it is you want me to be
is a damn sight harder
than it seems.