My words drip out
as sweat ronde de jambes ’round
your nipple. We touched skin
with eyes open—fucking
fermata. Shed clean sheets
At dawn you left
with sun-haloed hair.
You never went home
to me, always elsewhere.
He says I should know better but
your breath is morphine. Don’t leave
without your lies, tell me
you like when things don’t change.
Your chest is still
what I dream of in sleep
and in waking. No chamber is sound-
proof, no penance is safe
when he’s listening and you’re not