Frustration

I am not certain what it is I want
From you-friendship, or understanding help,
Or merely words that you would speak to me
Alone, and your ears listening to words
That I have stored to say to you. But when
You speak to me, you always stand a step
Above me, on an eminence, and you
Are even then aloof; you will not stay.
Elusive as quicksilver, you slip past
The words I would have said, and past my hands
That would not lift or clutch to make you wait
To listen or to speak. I do not know
Exactly what it is I want from you;
But this one thing I never need be told!
Whatever it may be, you will withhold.

IRMA W ASSALL.