I skipped breakfast this morning. My stomach is growling, but I will not feed it. There are ten fingers, two eyes, and one mouth that can satisfy this hunger. There is only one form of starvation when you are near me. I got busy on purpose and fasted you all week so that tonight I could ravish you.
Tip the teapot over my mug, and spill your heart out into my hands. I will keep the bits and pieces warm while you look for glue. Stoicism. I turned the heater up and put earmuffs on my head, because I am still undecided. "I love you." I think I love you too, but I am not sure.
When my mug is empty, fabric dances off of your skin and onto the carpet. I am not sorry that you could not find the glue. The floor likes your clothes a lot more than I do. I ask to keep the earmuffs on and you only smile at me. "I love you." I choose to not hear it this time. I am hungry, and I just want to be fed.