It was always the same scenario
The same line.
While I made tea
On a rusty red stove
He stood watching
leaning by the door
and then said,
I like the cut of your dress
as though it were a cue
to turn the stove on to sim
and let the simmering within
come to boil.
and before anything could spill
the tea was made and drunk
in silence
battered down by banal words.
