Spotless

Sometimes I wonder if you left because of symmetry.
I'm forever trying to study the physiology of men, maybe I turned
at a wrong angle and in turn, it turned you off.
Whenever I start cleaning the house something creeps over me, as if I was your little wifey awaiting your return home
from work, a hot meal and my hot aching flesh to greet you with. I scrub extra
hard when I think of you, always preparing, and sometimes I wonder if there might
come a day when you finally decide the symmetry is all
wrong in me, that everything about me is wrong,
maybe my ample child bearing hips are a little too ample,
the way
I laugh ridiculously at everything trying to find joy in this trembling life, the way I can't forget how you
trembled when I spit your cum back on your beautiful stomach and licked it back up.
I scrub and scrub at nothing. Maybe that will be the exact moment you decide to walk away forever, and I'll have missed out on
a final trembling moment with you when instead of cleaning
the already spotless floor I could have been
cleaning you up with my hungry tongue.