Like his five senses, he takes you for granted.

You’re at his fingertips, always within reach.  Under his nose, your wilted floral scent of low self-esteem.

Always in his peripheral, he feels no need to look into your pupils.

Always within earshot, his cold acknowledgments chill the coffee you left on for him.  You’ve lost all your senses, except the bitter taste in your mouth.



She lay against his chest and asked him if he loved her. She felt his chin poke the top of her head as he nodded yes. Her shoulders tensed and her gut was heavy. She stiffened her jaw until it ached. She didn’t believe him.

After they made love, he fixed a sandwich in the kitchen. She sat across the table as he ate. He offered her a bite and she accepted. When he finished, he stood up and returned to the bedroom. She stared at the crust pieces left on his plate.

She was still hungry.