Ask me no questions.
I touch your face
in bed,
the morning after,
and speak of ownership.
A tease.
As you bristle
involuntarily,
I make a joke
and giggle,
so as not to
alert your
reflex of flight.
Traipsing around the
foot of the bed,
I touch yours.
And trace your silhouette
up the slight curve
of your long body.
You smile your smile.
“I like that,”
you say.
But you
don’t
feel
me.
