Dear Non-committal Lover,

You see it was silly for me to expect anything when you said not to expect anything
but you were punctual and that was a bit of a turn-on so I smiled at you in a way
that said I'm—

Perhaps I misread the dimpling of cheeks you said something about kinky I swooned
too soon shouldn't of said that I wanted nothing more than to rip off that red sundress
but I didn't say that so I suppose that I should of—

The music had already turned after although I tried to sustain the song with my hands
gliding the skin of your back— a sad chorus slow lilting to have me hobble half-hard
back home with that sound which requires two melodies—

In the morning you back to revising your book deep into the work of ethnography you
and your tenure-track while me an empty-handed Sunday— searching my mouth for
the after-taste of your tongue