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