The unmistakable sides of two lives
are separated by only four words.
Dry hesitations are heard in his sighs.
Fragile silence disturbed by tweeting birds.
The squeaky door revolves around its hinge
and the warm loaf perspires its fresh scent.
Twiddling the ring, his face makes a cringe.
She simply stares as he squirms in torment.

The waiter, omniscient, rushes to aid.
Asking him, if he has something to say,
but nothing, he says, that’s too clichéd,
or you might cause her to stray away.
Relieved that he purchased a guarantee,
with the ring he said, “Will you marry me?”