I kissed someone's wife today.
It felt better than I wanted it to.

In my tiny bedroom,
the walls looked more beige than usual.
Martha laid beside me -- her idea.

Frames.
I didn't have frames on a couple posters.
Martha rested her head on my shoulder -- her idea.

Instead of putting up my clean laundry,
an **** of boxers, button-downs, and jeans took place on the floor.
Martha told me she liked her hair played with -- I didn't ask.

I left my cigarettes in plain sight
on top of a face down picture frame.
She slid my arm under her neck -- I couldn't be rude.

While she spoke of her husband watching cartoons,
I noticed **** (used during last week's *** with an ex) lying behind a couple beer bottles.
I put my right leg between her legs -- I can't help it if I'm a curious man.

When Martha pulled the blanket over our heads,
I hoped she couldn't smell my ex's perfume.
She let me run my fingers along her waistline -- she didn't tell me to stop until the fourth kiss.

Tributaries of mascara ran down her face.
Rivers of regret rushed out of her mouth.
I played out what would have happened -- had I not grabbed her, pressed my lips harder on the fourth.

"I'm not this kind of girl."
I told her things would be better with her husband.
Handing her a clean rag off the floor, she said -- "My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way."

I broke up the **** of clothes, grabbed an armful; made a beeline for the closet.
With a beautiful sound, a beer bottle broke as I passed by.
Martha's teary eyes saw the **** -- "What the hell were you planning to do?"

She slammed the door.
One of my unframed posters peeled itself off the wall and feathered to the ground.
Most of me felt cloudy, but I knew one thing -- she's got a good 50 years of marriage to go to spite me.