you wake up and call
her honey and let her
trod all over you
with her needs and wants and
expectations, and
fake convictions.
Remain irrevocably in
love with
her eyes, her words,
the curve of her back.
the idea of her.
but only, mostly,
because it terrifies
you, petrifies you to
find yourself
completely and utterly alone.
but then, is
that love, though?
are you still, irrevocably,
in “love”?
