you breathe her in like

a half-drowned man breathes air

touch her the same way he

digs his fingers into the soil

you sing her praises as

a devout man praises his god

treat her the way

he would weep at the alter

but lately she doesn’t

text you back

her fridays and weekends are

booked solid through the month

you call as she’s about to

head out the door

you buy her roses and

later that day spot them in the trash

you agree to meet her in a food court

she has a look in her eye

your stomach knots and

you wish you didn’t understand

she says “we need to talk”

in the same tone as your vet

when your dog died in surgery

you wish you didn’t understand