classwork

my morality hinges on
memories of the
lilt of your plea and the
soft, popping smack of your lips parting
to piece together seductions,
mouths like puzzles.

was i just a poor little feminine void?
my shallowness to be pierced
and swallowed, quiet?

emptied, i felt the future
visions of aproned mothercomforts,
husband suppers to pull with scrub-brush hands
from enslaved oven,
i push my head in it.
you say, "less overdone next time, darling."
oh, spare me, suburbia.

we sipped lemonade in your bed
and cooled our anatomical euphoria
and i knew
one of us was going to have to put on our clothes
and just go.