He branded her skin with his words
and claimed her body with his hands.

He tied a knot around her heart
and tugged in times of despair.

He was a chef in the art of lies
and he knew just how much sugar she liked.

He knew her,
the shape of her curves,
the waves in her hair,
the desire in her lips..
the cracks in her mask.

He knew how she valued words,
how they were as valuable to her as music to him.

He knew how she longed for knowledge,
how it brightened her eyes and enlightened her heart.

He knew her,
everything about her,
because she could go on for hours
and never run out of words she wanted to share with him.

He had told her he loved her.

And then he just could never seem to remember to tell her again.