Senseless

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.