IT Is Not Human

Forgive me for I wasn’t enough for you, for I sang blues with a kite in each hand. I didn't speak. My aperture was stitched with eminence. The song made me weep as a child.
I opened the score in French. No, it didn't speak but it sang.
Have you forgiven me? You, armed with a cnif, painted with its bristles. Each a different shade of black. Notes circled around me as I contrat. To you it couldn't sing yet you mirth as you watched its hair swing, too heavy yet not enough. I closed my eyes yet you dressed me with a blindfold. Tight wrinkles around my iris did not sketch my pain, to you it was Hera. Apologize again. You dress in mahogany. Contrast to my eyes, you do it again. Face spotted with ember. Lashing once more as you trace your nerves across the dark sil. Counting the raindrops pressed against the window as I am. It doesn't beg to end anymore. It has widowed. For two were lost instead of one. Only one did you name Her. It storms and they cannot fly. Both were under six and neither did he mourn.