The speaker is talking directly to someone they love, and the message is bleak: you will never understand me. Almost every line begins with "You will never," and that repetition makes the poem feel like a door closing again and again. The speaker isn't arguing or asking for anything. They seem to have already accepted that the gap between them and this person can't be crossed.
What stands out is the sense of imbalance. The speaker sees "you" clearly, and loves "you" fully, but believes none of that is returned. Phrases like "my light hour" hint at a softer, more open side of the speaker that the other person has never noticed. The title adds to the feeling. Throwing supermarket flowers from the windowsill suggests a small, tired gesture of giving up on a gift that wasn't wanted or noticed. The mood is quiet, hurt, and resigned, with sadness sitting just under the plain, flat wording.