If I'm so wrong where does love come from?

Your nipple.
my teeth.

I cannot look at your tattoos.
I want to.

I turn away, like an autistic child.
You taste like peaches.

I can pour the cream.

You snapped at your husband.
Never give me mapquest.
Only google maps.

It was cold.
My heart hurt from the moment I woke
in your arms.

Morning coffee.
A feeling of love for everyone around me.
One so powerful it swept over me.
I wanted to sit in a corner.
So I could not see anything
but a weatherworn table
and your face.

The same face that now speaks every so faintly of age.
The face that still calls to me of beauty.
And the happy family.
That isn't so happy.
The view through the rear window.


Unfriending.
We spoke of voice talent
and telephone systems

Anxiety pulling down.

You were so beautiful. So tall.
So graceful. Lithe.

You have had so many women.
They do whatever you want.
I didn't.


The traffic stretched over a hill
across a bridge.

Around an island.
Back to shore.


I stared at the ass end of cars lined up
all the way to the horizon


A black anger grows

And then, shame.
Atonement.


Don't grab my head.
Don't push me down and make me choke on it.

I didn't want to know the story.
I didn't ask.

I was fat.
As most men my age.
Maybe fatter than most.
My hair was short.


They say. Part of love is knowing emotion.
We were always kind of blind to each other.
Always living inside each other.

So here is where I say.

No.


You are not a kept woman.


You and your husband.
Burned every letter.

Not just him.
And hopefully

The last.

That one was a piece of shit.

But you and I know.
There is more to come.