I feel his hands caress my waist,

He holds me close, he kisses my face.

There’s comfort in his warm embrace,

And I know he loves me.

I feel his hands around my throat,

His eyes are cold, he starts to gloat.

As he storms out, he grabs his coat,

And I don’t know if he loves me.

I feel his fingers brush my cheek,

His voice is soft, he makes me weak.

I feel his warmth, the warmth I seek,

And I think he loves me.

I feel him squeeze my hand too tight,

I force a smile, pretend I’m alright.

He drinks too much almost every night,

And I don’t think he loves me.

I take a flower from the bouquet,

The one he got me yesterday,

To tell me he’s sorry for acting that way,

And to tell me that he loves me.

I start to pull the petals off

“What a childish game”, I hear him scoff

But as the last pink petal drops,

I can finally see that he loves me not.