She looks at me with what I think is love,
All I know of love;
I tug at my hair nervously,
She watches my hands with discontent,
I love her hands.
Me, biting my cuticles,
I think she may vomit.
Few words come out of her mouth,
All carefully calculated
Like an incision on the first layer of skin,
Quick, clean, sterile.
Next comes the smile.
Wait.
Re-do smile, 1,2,3,4,5,6,
No, 7 times.
The smile doesn't reach her eyes.
I frown.
She looks away.
"I like your outfit."
Through smiling pressed teeth
And that is all.
She looks at me with what I think
Is love.