I love how we lay, a friendly stain
on a broken bed.
You keep your hand on my head.
Pull me closer than my husband ever did.
When you're not here, my fingers reinvent
your tongue. Wet sheets, wet pants
will dry. Oh, lovely impermanence.
You never asked why, but I have no tattoo
because touch is my tattoo.
Flesh pulled from flesh hurts
in all forms.
In the pillow, the smell of you
and my sheets are wet again.
I've never tasted come
so sweet. Soft as banana.
Once my husband made me come
so many times my hands I held
behind my head cramped on the tent pillow,
but I don't know if you want to know that.
It may not be true.
I might have been faking.
There is nothing that rots
like a marriage.
But I'll tell you, and I imagine you know
I'll keep this distance we insist but the other
night when you held me
because love is not enough,
when you touched my body over and over again,
when I asked like I do
if we could make love
and you said not tonight
like you do,
when you woke, sat up, and turned
to look at me
in a way you never have before,
the morning light red
through the curtain, I knew.
Love is not enough
there is no one
only this distraction
attraction I guess it's called. We have
called it that.
But let's not name-call.
Let's keep on pretending it will never stop
raining, that the heart once broken
can never heal. Let's pretend misery has us
lying like this,
my whole body on yours, my lips on your lobe.
We sleep like this, you realize, me on top of you
and together we've dreamed of flying
over the world refusing the something
that can slide up into us
ten thousand times and have it
never be enough.