It’s offhand,
The comment
That first stills
Her heart
Then sends it
Tumbling
Her breath
Attempting traction
Attempting grip.

And he knows
She lies
When she answers
“Fine.”

At first
He didn’t
Know
How
His words
Cinched
Tight around
Her throat,
Extracted
Air
From her lungs
Slowly
Until
She was taut
And vacant.
But then
He learned
Words
As
Weapons
He found
He couldn’t
Help
But wield.