Call it what you want but this is love by Naomi Foster

here i go again
answering the late-night call
beseeching my company
how he longs for my warmth and touch
he will ramble about that birthmark
and I will titter
like it’s the first time i’ve heard it
like he’s the first one to notice
he will think himself special
because i want him to

here i go again
plucking and preening
every inch of my skin
scrubbing away until i am raw
aphrodite incarnate
chugging gallons of juice concentrate
in hopes of developing a sweetness
that loiters on his lips,
and settles in the back of his throat
i will drench this skin
in honey and bergamot oils
if it means my scent will linger on his linens

he will not erase me post-coitus
as he does with others
i will tame the shrew
he is going to love me

here i go again
unwrapping the silk and lace bodice
stepping out of opaque tights
void of the usual attire
he will believe i am bare
flesh of his flesh
bone of his bone
he will have his way with this temptress
but if he thinks this is intimacy
he is clueless
this is nothing to me

here i go again
altering my exhales
to match his every inhalation
faintly whispering recycled affirmations
assuring him that this
is the best i’ve ever had
it isn’t

here i go again
draping myself in deception
adorning my organs with white trimmings
burning a hole
in the pastel palisades
swimming in the sticky chagrin
basking in the inevitable shame
that these encounters do bring
for a brief moment of validation