He thinks I can’t see
How his shoulders turn from me
So subtle but bright
In intuition’s spotlight
He thinks I can’t hear
When says he’s not going anywhere
That’s self soothing in a shaky voice
His own mantra; not for me
He thinks I can’t smell
The coffee is not as sweet
The morning after he deactivates
And I know it’s not me
He thinks I can’t taste
The absence of warmth on his lips
When I have to kiss first
A violation of self worth
He thinks I can’t feel
His visceral fear
That I will become her
The decision is his, not mine
A slow reveal
The depths of my empathy
Weakness of the past
As he faces his
Fragmented Healing 
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