"I love you," he lies
as she rests her cheek on his chest,
and with a contented sigh
she draws patterns with her fingers on his skin.
He looks up at the ceiling
before closing his eyes for a while,
resignedly stealing
a few moments of lonesome peace.
He goes home that night.
It's late, and cold, and dark.
He can't seem to find the right
key, and no one answers his knock.
He left it with her.
Even in the cold night's
embrace, there's nothing to spur
his return to such a smothering place.
He curls up and sleeps by the door.
He wakes to her touch.
"You left your keys." She kisses him.
He despairs of ever having so much
as a d