This is too much. He means
the sweltering sun and dreams
of his Himalayan home, crisp air.
My memories are too much to bear.
Red wine is flowing; he pulls me close.
I take his hand in mine. He eyes my blouse.
Isn’t this what you’ve been longing for, dear?
I let go. His restless hands have no fear.
His face buried in my chest, the taste of salt
lingers on my tongue. Somebody is to fault
as he pulls my body down. Swallow hard
and count to ten. My heart stands guard.

He grunts. Why do I feel nothing?