She cooked at the stove.

He read the newspaper at the kitchen table.

She tasted the soup with a ladle.

He sipped his beer.

Her words spoken silence.

His mouth a dry desert.

Their way she had no love for.

He was clueless of this notion.

The helmet she wore on her head guarded secrets that plastered her face for she could not speak of what she most desired. (love)

The beer-belly protruding from his body guarded attraction like a well-protected but malnourished fetus.

She was tired. (love)

he was blank

There was no (love) in the marriage. (love)
Only a (stove)