He crinkled the daily
paper and thought out
loud, "You're my
best friend."

She scuffed her
kitten heels, prodding
for more. Far inside she
told herself to take it lightly.

He knew she knew
that he knew it was
temporary. Acting as if
she made him happy.

She sunk deep in
the velvet green
couch. Cons and pros
of being the leaver or the left.

He stared past Valentine
cards and the spot on
the carpet, where they
laughed and spilled tomato soup.

Their faces drooped and became
that soup. Sodium and protein
soaking into the ground
every which-way.

She resided and sat
up out of their yard-sale
bought couch. She set her
mind on staying by his side.

He toppled over on
the yard tools he never
touched. Now next to his
side was the Earth's crust.

She was left in the air
and he laid in muck.
His voice played over in her
head, "You're my best friend."