she will always begin with a pause,
her eyebrows will lift the wrinkles of her forehead,

exhale.
sharp stare.

she will always open with some battered phrase,
something to the effect of "we need to talk" or
"is something wrong?"

i slide a sigh.
roll my eyes
off to the
distant side.

she will always hope the drama of the event
will scare me into a newfound commitment,
it did the first few tries.

look to her play-tears.
read them like a teleprompter.

she will always use *** as the scapegoat,
condemning me for my high crimes,
my dwindling light of real integrity.

read her my
polished response.

she will cry for the remainder of her waking state,
we'll open our eyes only to find,
ourselves tangled in one another,
sweaty from the weighty night.
she won't be crying.
and we'll be in love again.

over and over and over
and over and over and
over and over and over
             again.