over a hot mug of coffee, cupped in both hands
the smell inhaled more than the dark brew sipped at

over a blue formica tabletop, silver pedestal, tiled floor
sticky with food leavings and cigarette ash

over a worn-smooth wedding ring, two generations old
and the only jewelry she wears any more

over a rib cage rising and falling gently
tide upon tide, she tells me

the wrongness spreads through her body,
platelets that break more than they build

they're measuring her in months now
a few dozen weeks with a few dozen prescriptions

while my heart's rupture, the crack of it
might be audible, i know she doesn't want me to cry

in public so i don't, till she adds
she thinks she's too tired to be in love any more