I’m stumbling around in the dark
When you clutch my shoulders.
(I’m probably thirsty,
Or going to ***.)
“I love you so much,”
I hear you say.
“I’m so sorry.”
And I think I hear tears in your voice.
And maybe it’s my tequila and benadryl,
Or your whiskey and coke,
But probably it’s both.
“Forever,”
I hear myself say,
And I know you feel tears on my face.
“Forever.”
And you refill my water while I *** in the dark.

Her eyes close slightly,
And her lashes
Obscure
His offers
For connection.
She smiles
And her lips
***** barriers
She can huddle behind
If she gets very small.
She draws him close
And her sighs
Drown out
Her gasps for air.
But if he notices aloud,
The squinting, or smiling, or *******,
And how something’s a little bit different,
She might not stay to be seen.

A smile
Creeps
Into her eyes
Before her cheeks
Draw
And her lips
Curl
And her words
Bring forth
The unexpected.
And they laugh
At the rightness
And the wrongness
Juxtaposed
And binding them
Together.

She watches
His shapely shoulders shift
As he washes their dishes
And hums
A bar
She can’t recall
Quite well enough
To join.

“And sometimes,”
She notes,
“We are easy.”

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.