A Lover

Let's make this much
clear: I have loved you
the way you haven't loved me,
have watered the flowers
the requested number of times,
not with a reluctance but a lover's
willingness, I have plowed these fields,
have watched you laze in the heat-
crippled fields with martini
and grapes, each grape made fresh
and ripe by my hand . . .
have found myself merely this long
accepting. What was there ever in it
for me? If I'd be a bee, you'd be
the flower. No. If I'd be a horse,
you'd be the horseman whipping me
to run faster.