You feel confidently in charge
And calm, at least on the surface.
We tangle, and clothes are pulled away
More easily than inhibitions or masks.
The wine helps, rounding the edges of
The clunky building blocks of self.
Is it a routine, a rehearsed performance?
I’m not thinking that at the time.
We are both trying to keep that big soap bubble
From bursting, until after,
When partings are negotiated
In a half world of morning
While a certain tenderness lingers
Like scent on a pillow.
Stale with hunger and lack of sleep,
Struggling to remember lines we should say
No director’s here to say, ‘cut,
Start that scene again
From the clinking of night glasses.
I want you to give it to me
Once more, with feeling.’