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.

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