always so predictable - retreat to the bathroom

and brush your teeth, reapply the deodorant

for another round. slink back through the door -

cracked enough to let the moans slip out and echo

into the unfurnished house. attempt - and fail

to arouse me with a probing tongue, and whisper

the same compliments that no longer impress.

pause. ******. resume.

lay me on my back or push me up against

the curtained window, it makes no difference to me anymore,

I’ll just close my eyes and pretend, making more noise

in pain than in pleasure. and when I tell you to

come, it’s a plea more for my sake than yours.