LVII I am the jerk in this relationship

And once again my sonnet, we're at war.
There cannot be a peace between us two,
We merely raise--not settle--any score,
You will not do a thing I ask you to.
If you would rhyme more gently to the page,
I could give you all sorts of flow'ry words,
About sweet love, times mut'ny, or this age,
But all you give me for this line is "birds".
Here lies the part where there should be a twist,
Or some great revelation past unknown,
I've not really been spending time on this,
You do not throw me either boon or bone.
   And while you scrub my syntax in the sink,
   Since we can't compromise, I'll go and drink.