Habitual Love

Deny: the simplest attempt he did.
Porcelain crashing: her complex, teary reply.
“You can’t prove anything”, he retorts.
“But you explain nothing!” she shouts
Man ruffles his head, admitting faultiness
She lowers the next projectile, waiting
Unveils from his pocket, golden rings
Six: Crude, chipped, carved, amateur’s work
Man takes wife’s fingers, places five.
“Here…”One. I. Give. The. World. To.
In thumb, he wears sixth. Yours.
Tears roll, kisses, then unholy noises.

The neighbors just sigh once again.
“At least once a month, eh?”