Nestled in the comfort of porn,
horned-up and warm,
allegiances torn.
Cushions all bunched up on the floor,
channel 64,
but we abstained
from what we’ve waited for.
We realize sullenly
with hidden certainty
there might still be more.
Picking off the scabs from our slip,
and subsequent dip,
in full recall,
although it can never be real,
I can’t help but feel it’s beautiful.
A night like all before,
but take away restraint,
and knowing what’s in store,
and if there will be more.
The thing that could not be,
the is that wasn’t so,
the did that would not go.
If you then cannot we,
the we that we both know
together would be so…
so beautiful.