Going through the motions of making love
making nothing and feeling undone
Sitting hunched over at the edge of his bed
I'd never admit it but sometimes,
I'd like to be held instead
I've never known the feeling
Of that little spoon
The one that sits in the grooves
Of the other larger half moon
He brings my train of thought to an ugly end
He mutters, " get off the bed, its time to get dressed. "
I leave the room thinking about half moons
And how sometimes even little spoons get used