The coffee hit the back of his throat, setting sparks

behind the eyes. The he felt a growing guilt, it seemed

wrong to be enjoying this pleasure alone & it made him 

nervous. He watched the door, waiting for her to storm in,

make a scene, wondering where she was & if she was still 

angry. It was a daily occurrence – had she even noticed? 

Love, that most over used of words had been reduced 

to a comma punctuating vitriol, a pause for breath. 

On the rare occasions she looked at him here eyes were 

distant, her face obscured by clouds – what was she thinking?

 

(K)