She simpers cloyingly sweet
‘oh darling, I just want to make love to you tonight.’

It’s not as romantic as it sounds:
He’s thinking of someone else.
She wants this one last chance to prove
she’s worthy of his adoration,
But, oh, she’s not the one
and he could never love another
and he won’t allow her to desecrate his temple of a body
(at least not tonight.)

Maybe when he finally realizes that his girl shaped
utopia/escape/respite/savior
isn’t coming back.

Still, he keeps silent and keeps the zipper seeking hands at bay.
“Not tonight.”

Pout, smile, tease, try again.
She’s living on endless repeat.

You don’t think of boys as rape victims.