He said he loved my body;
then i felt satisfied.
We had only talked of fruit
all dinner for christ sake.
In his studio:
white walls; white sheets;
french romance novels
stacked beside
bright sneakers.
A shell; no story here -
just objects sorted in
nondescript piles.

Lizard kisses,
soft moans and
pathetic utterances;
chest puffed
neath my palms,
riding him half soft,
barely penetrating.
He fought his eyes open;
mesmerized.
I came bored and empty,
validated; ****,
waiting for him to come
and ask me to leave.
Instead we showered;
he was all over me,
after all.