It Is Early One Morning
It is early one morning,
and you are making love to me.
Sunshine is streaming through the curtains
and I am disinterested in your ministrations.
I wonder
if we could ever be soft people.
Lazily enjoying the sunshine,
stretched out on our picnic blanket.
There is a plate of sandwiches between us,
half of them have been eaten.
We are comfortably full,
and you don’t take it the wrong way.
There is a pitcher of sweet tea,
you tell me you found it tangled up
in the roots of your family tree.
You lean in to kiss me,
and it is gentle
and you don’t use your tongue.
You feel like August, you know.
One glorious ending to a beautiful summer.
But the summer was hot and humid
I was nothing if not miserable,
but I’ll always miss the summer we spent together,
sunburnt to hell
with your hand upon my throat.
You are mad at me,
I cannot perform in the way you wish,
you cry and blame yourself
It’s because you are not pretty enough,
Not feminine enough.
you say this is important
the ultimate way to express our love
I close my eyes
and dare to wonder
When did love become so violent?
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