A few stolen hours on a Sunday afternoon
watching a familiar movie,
loving the familiarity of your arms
as I snuggled into the warmth.
I was home again.

Later, the evidence in the bathroom
of another woman’s visit revealed.
Personal things in the trash
whispered secrets of intimacy
with her surroundings and with you.

Broken hearted I stumbled back into the room.
You asked why my face
was so warm, unaware of the
anguish and anxiety that burned
beneath the surface of my smile.

And I wondered how she felt each time
she discovered the pieces of me left behind …