Member-only story
With Patience, We Can Make it Work
A Poem
I’m probably too high in sodium, dear Asha, or maybe too much pepper?
I don’t have to coerce you to bed, but it’s like I have a leak in my heart and I tend to get it all over you.
My behavior, my love, is irrational, but there’s nothing sane about loving you.
I should take warning — every time we have sex — that it only gets hotter as fires go.
In the morning there’s breakfast, and I resist every mean impulse as I have these cruel urges that I never act on.
Just the tip at first, is how I teased you last night, and I know it’s all my fault that you ended up in the predicament you were in, hanging on my every thrust like words of delight.
In medieval times it would’ve been a royal bed in which we lie, but those days are gone I guess, I suppose I need to take what dividend I can from life and march.
It’s without much difficulty that you praise my loving, as the flower does the sun, but your screams of pleasure are a bulletin of dirty words.
I affect you in this way, from when I begin with a feather, disturbing all virtue, to when I finish with epitaphs.
Tonight, the broccoli was overcooked, but you ate it anyway, just don’t tie me to the oak out…
