You've infiltrated this house, leaving
fibers of indecency smattered with lust-
I smell you as I walk through the rooms,
a literal fucking ghost meeting me with each pace. I'd be angry
if it meant we'd fallen in love.
You spat the marriage word again, a familiar
intonation of the much-repeated wish to keep
me, tie me down, not let
anyone else have me. But that's not how you mean it.
You don't want me for love,
we want each other for lust. There would be others,
you explain over your naked torso and my lazy fingertips.
Us, and others. Together and separate, all at once and
never at all. For a moment, I think I could
play house with you:
house with a revolving door for our egos and our libidos,
house with an unspoken but laughed about connection.
We didn't get it together years ago, and we won't get it together
now, but where there is nothing to lose,
there cannot be loss.
(i like what we have become/your hands crushing into me/my tongue scalding over you/our naked breasts to our naked backs/you buy dinner/i buy breakfast)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment