I have taken you already,
my love - many times;
my heedless husband surrogate.

His (your) teeth at my breast,
drunking my head,
my belly close to –

lungs coursing in time
with his (your) tongue;
yet wresting (just)

his name
from sodden summer sheets.
Breathlessly my

eyes slam closed
as he preens pretended prowess.
Hollow, but composed, I smile;

reach out (to you, to you…) to him
and speak the wooden line
the scene demands.