You remind me
We are adults in our mid 30s,
You tell me I must understand that
He turns you on and does the right things.
That you find his body, his texture, his ribs
And toned arms too sexy,
That he brushes his thumb on your nipples making them
Hard at a stroke, and making you light.
You tell me, there’s no offence to be taken,
And I agree with you, yes – we are civilized,
And he should be given a key to the house
And I must go somewhere. For, I would rather you did it
Where the comforts are those of home.
You tell me that he kisses right, and that
He touches you disarming you of all your inhibitions.
That he throbs between you, pinning you
Against the wall like a butterfly, and that he,
In a controlled frenzy of brute force coated with
The finer syrups of male-dominated lust
Stings into you as if he were the proverbial bee.
And I listen, and I nod,
And I say , yes – then, what is best perhaps
Is to give him the spare key to the house
And, perhaps, a cue to let me know, so
I could let the two of them be.