You did not ask for forgiveness
Not because you feared
Nor of your pride—not even of laziness.
We both knew—it was pointless.
We aren’t simpleminded, you and me.
We know forgetting is not easy.
We could drown ourselves in happy pills and cheap thrills,
But even hungover in mornings, we remember.
You asked me if I were angry that you fucked my friend
[I thought of saying, “You colored her one shade of gray,” but whom should I kid?]
You misunderstood my confusion with jealousy.
The girls I envy, I want to bed too.
You chose the wrong friend.
I am not generous with drama.
It occurred to me you only wanted to crack me open.
“You are rock hard,” you told me.
I wanted to reply, “Yeah, harder than you get sometimes.”
You did not cheat nor lie to me.
I was there as you went back to your base self.
You disappointed me too much that I chose to sleep
rather than stop you with your “darker” games.
Was there love there at all?
Maybe . . .
Why else would today be cursed with the rank reek of a great desire gone stale?
Like a whore gone jobless for a week.
And it is not the stink coming off from me.