Sunday Afternoon

I couldn't cope with you,
All lazy and stubborn.
The sex gone, the passionate, bruising,
Biting, scratching fucking; gone.

I couldn't stay for this.
For what I thought we had.
The damaged clawing of a desperate

Couple, trying to make it work.

But now, after weeks in rehab,
After reinventing myself as a

Grown-up, who knows how to say no.
After all this, I still can't.

These Sunday afternoons,
These cider fueled nights.
I sit and cyber wait,
For you to appear.

We talk.
We talk dirty.
We talk dates and places.
We talk sweat and fluids.

And it comes to this:
Me, alone with the wine, nursing the
Carpet burns and guilt of a woman
Who should know better.