HUNGER

HUNGER

Hunger is what I said

I wanted. So much

in the brief dark bed,

but not what came afterwards;

the strangling of time

and the shower sound

that separates us, somehow,

the hotter the water gets.

Meaningful conversation,

would have been nice, but

we both had somewhere else

we needed to be. And small talk

falls short and faulters

and doesn�t always make sense

at a time like this.

And that's okay too.

I watch the steam ascend

through the opened door,

between bed and bath,

and shiver as you emerge

from the shower

and pick up the phone,

out of obligation and love.

Suddenly, we�re not alone anymore.

The second wife has entered the room.

There is talk of pasta, and

�What time are you coming home?�

And thank god I�m not her,

as I pour another glass of Merlot,

and sit back, waiting for the warm buzz

to make sense of why we do what we do

when we know we shouldn't be doing it.

I could learn to �be nice�

and suppress my appetite

and control my urge to get down on all fours.

I could try to be a �good girl�

and keep my clothes on while you finger me-

and pretend not to like it.

But we both know I�m the one

that got us here in the first place.

I knew exactly what I was doing;

I wanted to touch you

with your eyes wide open

and show you something

you had never seen, or felt before.

But you were somewhere, eyes shut,

on the other side of a hard on,

frightened of what comes next.

|