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 *****.
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.