She listens as if weighing grain,
letting the best parts fall through.

His face agrees
Before her thoughts do.

When asked, he answers
never to the question.

She repeats what you say
Slightly
rearranged,
So it sounds chosen

Nothing he gives is false
Nothing she keeps is small.

You will not remember a lie
Only the space
Where truth should of been.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Mayan, in the year 992 AF.