Habitual Love

Deny: the simplest attempt he did. Porcelain crashing: her complex, teary reply. “You can’t prove anything”, he retorts. “But you explain nothing! ” she shouts Man ruffles his head, admitting faultiness She lowers the next projectile, waiting Unveils from his pocket, golden rings Six: Crude, chipped, carved, amateur’s work Man takes wife’s fingers, places five. “Here…”One. I. Give. The. World. To. In thumb, he wears sixth. Yours. Tears roll, kisses, then unholy noises. The neighbors just sigh once again. “At least once a month, eh? ”