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.