don't wait up

it's obvious
that you don't love me.
I see it written all over
your face,
I smell it in the burnt toast,
the uncooked eggs
on my plate.
the soggy bacon.
I see this lack of love
in the laundry pile
in the hallway.
the unlocked door.
the way the mail
falls through the slot
and is left
stacked upon the floor.
I hear it in your whispers
when you're on the phone
in the other room,
taking
the call where I can't hear
you.
it's obvious what's
going on here,
and even more so
when you tell me
not to wait up,
that you'll be home
late tonight, if at all.