If I quit hoping he’ll show up with flowers, and

He quits hoping I’ll squeeze him an orange, and

I quit shaving my legs with his razor, and

He quits wiping his feet with my face towel, and

We avoid discussions like

Is he really smarter than I am, or simply more glib.

Maybe we’ll make it.

If I quit looking to prove that he’s hostile, and

He quits looking for dust on the tables, and

I quit inviting Louise with the giggle, and

He quits inviting Jerome with the complex, and

We avoid discussions like

Suppose I died, which one of our friends would he marry.

Maybe we’ll make it.

If I quit clearing the plates while he’s eating, and

He quits clearing his throat while I’m speaking, and

I quit implying I could have done better, and

He quits implying he wishes I had. and

We avoid discussions like

Does his mother really love him. or is she simply one of those over-possessive, devouring women who can’t let go.

Maybe we’ll make it.