It is the lips that tell.
Because hours of stroking his face and whispering that it was going to be alright had not discerned what one kiss on the forehead told me instantly. That he was gone. No one was home anymore.
As I withdrew my lips it was like looking at a slab of beef, or some other piece of eatable meat. There was no sacred presence to the leftovers worthy of reverence. He was now easily something I could have walked away from without a second thought. He was trash.
Funny….. how a kiss can always tell.