You say that there was a time when I was that prospective
love of your life. It's months, weeks later—
you sex me against un-forgiving walls and my mouth is empty
but for sound. Months, weeks later—
and I cry when you tell me that casual is hardly casual at all. I guess
my tears prove it but I've got to dream that I can be naked for you
and not lose everything.
You call me gorgeous, tell me to hit you as hard as I can.
It's like a break-up but I'm not allowed
to say I love you. Months, weeks from now, I will be under
the sweating body of a new boy and you will have your fun, too—
but wouldn't it be better