Trying in love

The citrus scent of the candle he bought for her
permeates the soft candlelight of the room.
She's wearing new lacy loungerie.
The soft cotton he loved sleeping against, doesn't 'put him in the mood'.
Her usually cherubic face is dolled up,
with the dark makeup her best friend assured her 'always works'.
She has chilled beer in the fridge,
he doesn't really like wine anymore.
It's 11pm when he promised to come over at 9,
the food she cooked for him has gone cold but her hope hasn't.
He'll come. He promised.
He does, with his goofy smile slightly lopsided and his steps staggering.
The scent of liquor tells her she won't need the beer,
he squints at her struggling to recognise her, but presses a messy kiss to her forehead.
He talks about his night and his friends, about the good liquor and colourful pills.
She daren't to ask, she doesn't want an fight.
The TV is turned on and the volume tunes out her protest.
He's full and asks her to go ahead and eat,
he tells her about the wild night ahead he's missing out on,
She nods, holds his hand and keeps her smile in place.
Because he's giving it up, giving it all up to be with her, but is he?
They start to kiss but he doesn't smell like him,
his hand touches her but she suddenly doesn't feel like it.
He pulls her closer and she's been waiting for this the entire night.
Don't think, he's here, he's with you, that's what you wanted.
He doesn't want to leave the couch
she's struggling to ignore the constant chiming of his phone.
He doesn't bother to undress her or himself.
She stares at the ceiling as he finishes, he collapses on top of her and sleeps.
Her tears disappear into his hair,
she's desperately searching for his scent
and falls asleep tracing idle patterns through his hair.