You lie to me every day,
with empty words and emptier kisses
and those tiny hesitations full of meaning.
You lie to me with those texts you send to say you miss
me – my inbox is crowded with clones
of those three words, all sent from a template
at regular intervals so I don't suspect.
You lie to me when you put your arms
around me, thinking I don't see
the way you flinch when I come too close.
You lie to me every day -
but no lies are so devastating or cause so much harm
as the one you tell every night,
but before bedtime, when you say:
"I love you."