date night: fat lip

 

pregnacy-conversation.jpg

temple to temple

sex marks the spot

it’s just four small letters,

a microwave and a dog basket

shy from (real) love

 

there’s a mile-wide, shrill divide

the snag to post-marital bliss

in pretending we’re here (sometimes) and

pretending we don’t exist

 

so let’s bitch and eat crisps

and nourish this flaccid guilt

together, for the kids

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