It’s His Turn in the Spare Room Tonight

                        And he doesn’t massage his penis across your neck, down your back,
Along your thighs like I did, does he. You don’t lie face down
And lose yourself, do you. He doesn’t make you disappear.

You no longer shake uncontrollably, do you, unlocking,
Dropping. You dare not risk going beyond pleasure
Anymore and he doesn’t keep you trapped

And untouched, your heart raw for tongue, your forearms, your cheeks, lips
Hips aching expecting, his eyes at dinner
Not making you wet, you not being taken against my bookshelf

Here nor that sofa you’re lying on there, you not being stripped
And emptied suspended full and silently your body
Never leaving you again, you never ever

Begging and weeping and begging again, because instead
You chose to take it in turns
Alone in there.