He tried to remember what they looked like as he saw
Where her nails had sunken deep into the comforter
And where his sweat had flattened the sheets.  
And felt ***** just for looking,
Afraid that their memories could see him in the empty room.

How ******* dare they
Indulge in each other when all it becomes
Is a mess for someone else to notice?
Selfish, entitled, lucky
*******.

And he was ashamed
Because he was happy that he noticed what they did
And because he felt like he was there.
Something so **** about imaginary inclusion.
Is that what they wanted?

Changing the bedding felt like desecration,
Like tearing down the set of a Broadway play.
The show was for him,
The show was for the other,
Who taught them how to act?

It hurts to think
About their hollow bodies
Mashing together.
They’re fake-*** moans that the other customers
probably complained about to their
silent spouses.

It hurts to think
That they whispered the moment away
In their insecurities and
in-the-moment-living.  
Jesus, all for nothing.

And he started to cry,
Thinking about the heat that filled the room.
Letting his heaves mirror their motion, and
Then left,
Their passion still damp.