Eleven

In a room separate from her husband’s we would make love

Sometimes I would hear him walking the floor

On mornings when I had slept over we woke to sex

The husband would be chanting she’d tell him to go to his room

I had met him once while having dinner with his wife

Their marriage had died he was okay with me sleeping with his wife

Saturday nights I showed up with recipe made dinner

Then we found our way into the bedroom where we made love

She hungered for me I could tell by the way she made love to me

It wasn’t turn over this way and that her face when she came was alive

That summer she was leaving for Germany we had sex for the last time

Afterwards lying naked on the bed she pretended to lock her pussy

We wrote each other love letters had a few conversations on the telephone

Sunday evenings I spent with a writing group wrote literature discussed them

My lover returned on a Sunday not knowing I was spending time in Chelsea

I showed up late to meet her how upset she was not wanting to talk

At her bedroom door she pulled my clothes off put me into her mouth

Never had we wanted each other so bad given each other so much love

It was then when she told her husband to pack his things go live with his mother

It was then when I invited a friend over for dinner while she was away at party

In making love we were like two old lions bored with love too tired to move

I left her apartment at night walked the streets in a complete fog

We said our goodbyes but I would visit her just for hor’s douvres and wine

Not ever had I seen her so lost wanting to sleep with me but I rejected her

The evenings at her apartment became somber she would chant for hours

I tore up our photographs she walked up to me half naked begging me to stay

Saying no to a woman twenty years older a body of a dancer her breasts exposed

Our sex had a kingdom she drank champagne like water lust was her liver