The fingers of suspicion finished pointing

before the hands had started to applaud

the knuckles bared like teeth that needed filling

the nails hardly blunter than his sword

Her trust had not survived the last confession

It left a taste that clung to every word

And nothing he could do would stop the burning

Though it was undersaid and overheard.

The trouble with suspicion is it lingers

Hangs around the house in empty days

Sticks to windows even when they’re open

Sticks in throats distorting every phrase