I Confine You In My Arms Poem by Mark Heathcote

Living with me makes you claustrophobic
Too exposed one day you may have blue toes.
I confine you in my arms.
I constrict your airway, you say.
The room is too small.
My mood is too heavy to bear fruit.
I am the sour to your sweet
But yet I am incomplete.
Like a Hoover without any suction.
Like a stagnant river when it loses its flow.
It all depends on how you treat me.
Like parched geranium losing all its glow
I do all I can for you.
But it never satisfied.
The confines of your mind where snow sit
Too pure and refined to know
What's really -going on in my mind?
How I think you are a little too unkind.