How do you know when it’s time?

You’re standing there, nude, at the mirror;

Red, scrubbed and powdery fresh from the shower.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed not wearing much.

To me, you look the same as you always did-

Nothing’s fallen, nothing’s spread.

This moment used to lead to others where we would come together,

Slide, slip, push, grunt, scream and collapse.

Again and again.

Now you’re curling your hair telling me what I need to

Pick up at Costco.

(Was I supposed to be taking notes?)

I’m not really listening;

Busy trying to get sports talk through the static on the clock radio.

I let my eyes wander to the fullness of your bottom-imagining the dark secrets enveloped there;

The sleek firmness of your gym-toned legs.

Why imagine? I wonder. You’re right here. Just reach.

Not like I haven’t before.

For a moment I imagine my tongue like a frog’s-

Flicking and diving deeply between your bum-cheeks from over here.

A test.

I asked if you wanted to come back to bed.

We had time, after all.

Your reflection froze and said “Sure, if you want” with the same enthusiasm

Put into listing produce.

“Shhh, wait!” I said, holding up a finger, finally getting the station clearly.

“No, then?” the curling iron high-in a holding pattern.

“I’ll go make coffee”, I said. “It’s getting later…”

“Okay.” You said, getting back to the hair.

“And don’t forget it’s the frozen strawberries we want.

Not the mixed berries you got last time.”

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