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.